Yes. It took me 8 months. Work was insaaaaaane. I'll update every other day until I'm done. Thanks for hanging around if you're still here.
"You should kiss me before your mom gets back from the store."
I continued to wash the glass I had in my hands. I had to play hard to get, because he had ignored me in the cafeteria when I kicked his foot under the table.
"Are you mad or something?" he asked.
I shrugged, and finally put the glass down to dry. He nudged me with an elbow in my side, so I made a face. Disgust, to hide all the want.
"We don't have to do it. We can just chill."
"Whatever."
"What's gotten into you?" He laughed. "Be nice to me. Rose is always nice to me."
"Go do it with her, then."
He was red and silent and his eyes fell to the floor, where they stayed until I spoke again.
"I don't care about Rose. Just because she's your girlfriend doesn't mean I want to talk about her."
"Fine, we won't talk about Rose," he promised me.
So a minute later when he reached out to hold my hand I let him. We didn't do it that afternoon, but I let him touch me. And we kissed. A lot.
XxXxX
He's here every weekend. He's here while I work. He's here while I prepare a few simple meals to get me through the week. He's here during my morning workouts, which I only seem to have time for on Saturdays and, if I'm not too lazy, Sundays. He's here for all the minutes we get to share in between errands and work commitments and drinks with friends. He's here for the kisses and our bed and for naps on the couch, under the best throw he's ever felt, like, ever, and I think maybe I should buy another one for him to have back home in Forks, but I like knowing he loves something only I can give him. So, if everything else becomes boring and bland maybe he'll still come for his naps.
The fifth weekend he stays in Forks. He spent Thursday and Friday moving everything he owns out of the house, so he's too tired to make the long drive to Seattle. He'll do it, he tells me, but not until Saturday afternoon. He needs some rest. But Saturday afternoon to Sunday afternoon isn't long enough. Would it be worth it? Probably not, he tells me, and I agree. We can't be like bratty children who always want more. But that's exactly what I want, so I remind him that I can drive, too. So should I drive to Forks? Sure. Sure. Okay, sure. That sounds almost reluctant. Noncommittal. Sure, drive to Forks. Sure, why not? Sure, but we'll see each other next week anyway. And how clingy am I? Very clingy, Bella. Of course it's not Edward saying that, it's me.
So, fine, I am acting clingy and desperate, but I want so much more than "sure" right now.
And instead of telling him to stay in Forks I want to say, "Come for the throw. You're tired and worn out and need to rest. Rest here, on my brand new bed. Not under the covers, because according to you that's only for nighttime sleep. So on top of the covers. With the perfect throw covering you. You can wrap yourself up. Hide your face. Fetal position, which used to freak me out when we were teenagers, but which I now understand. You crave comfort. I'll sit here and be quiet. Then I'll get bored and start making some noise. I'll be subtle, but you'll know. Then we'll share the throw. Hide our faces. Breathe in and out."
But I tell him it's no big deal. I have plenty of things to do today. I love you. Love you too. Squishy kiss sounds, and he hangs up.
XxXxX
My phone is ringing again, just minutes after the conversation that threw me into the depression that forced my feet into sneakers because I need need need cookies and milk and hard candy that will make my teeth hurt. Last time I actually thought about my teeth (brushing and flossing don't count) I was kissing Edward, and thinking about how sometimes we get carried away and knock our teeth against each other and then stop and laugh, if I have it my way, or continue like it's normal and okay and the best, which is how he wants it. He notices no imperfections, no mistakes.
"Were you serious about driving up?" are the first words out of his mouth.
"Yes."
"There's this place in La Push, called Oceanside Resort? I've heard good things... it's right by the water. We can get a nice room for... Why don't you check out their site?"
"What is it?"
"Google it. Look at the rooms and rates."
"Why would we have to stay there? I can stay at my house, and..."
"Privacy," he explains. "It'll be nice to get away."
"To La Push?"
"Where do you want us to stay? You want to come over and stay in my room? Or should I show up at your mom's with a change of clothes for tomorrow?"
"Okay, relax," I tell him. "No need to get like that... You're right. Give me a sec, I'll check it out..."
I scan the available rooms and rates and think maybe this will be fun. I can be there this afternoon, and there are hot tubs and fireplaces in the rooms. We can be silly and have fun. I'll bring the throw as a surprise.
"Okay," I say. "I'll book one of the luxury one-bedrooms for tonight."
"There's cheaper rooms."
"Yeah, but what's the fun in that?"
"I don't know... Fine, whatever you want," he says.
He keeps talking, but I'm not listening, because there is nothing more exciting than booking a room I'm going to be staying in, and I'm making sure it's got everything we need and entering my credit card number and planning on what to take and what to wear and reminding myself to leave my hair down...
He's asking me something. I think it's, like, the third time. My immediate reaction is to try to brush off his question. And then a second later, my heart sinks. It hits me: he's worried about money, and the big room I booked without considering how this affects him, and he's telling me not to do anything, because he'll go down and take care of things in person.
"Ugh, I suck," I tell him. "I get really excited about these things and booked us a room. I'm sorry. This one's on me because I'm an impatient brat who—"
And another argument begins. He's the most stubborn person I know. And too proud. As if he needs to be like that with me. So I promise I'll let him pay me back, and I make a mental note to kiss every inch of his face because he makes my heart swell and ache in ways I didn't know were possible even when he owned every bit of that same heart so many years ago.
I'm ridiculous. Yes, I tell myself.
I'm in so deep.
"Ughhhh," I cry into my hands. He asks me what's wrong, so I tell him. He's pleased. He needs to hear it constantly. I love him. I love him. I love him.
XxXxX
"Why are we talking about this again?" Edward asks me, his hands holding down the hat he's wearing on the windy beach.
"Because we were talking about spending a week with Dad up at the cabin."
I'm glad I'm wearing a hoodie. I tighten it around my face and laugh at how much he's struggling. He finally gives up and shoves his hat inside his jacket, which he then zips up all the way to the top.
"I thought we agreed we're going," he says.
"We did. Don't try to distract me. Tell me what happened."
He spits out some sand that flew into his face. "Fucking... Disgusting... Anyway, yeah. He was a piece of shit. Before his family moved to Spokane, he'd been a little rough with Rose."
"Rough? Like... physically?" I ask.
"Yeah. Nothing major enough for anyone to notice, and she was too scared to say anything to her mom—"
"He, like, hit her?"
"I don't think so... He pushed her around. She's never said anything, but I got the impression he was emotionally abusive, too."
"Wow."
"Yeah." He continues, "It had gotten pretty bad the summer we got together. She broke up with him, like, a few days before we started hanging out. He'd been threatening her. She told me later that she thought she saw him in the parking lot right before she ran into me."
"Poor kid. I had no idea..."
Edward nods. I run my hand up his arm and grab it, pulling him closer to me. I'm fascinated with the story he's telling. An unwelcome shiver runs through me thinking about her, just a kid, being treated that way by her boyfriend. I know my face is ugly right now, because I'm thinking about how much I dislike feeling bad for her. And because I want to make things better for her, but I've only made her life shittier. Abusive boyfriend. Cheating boyfriend. Cheating husband. If I had known, would I have done things differently? I won't answer that, because it's nothing anyone wants to hear.
"So that night you asked me to come over... That was the worst timing, Bella."
"I'm sorry my dad didn't decide to leave us at a more convenient time for you, Edward."
"Shut up," he snaps, shaking his head. Like I'm unbelievable. "Listen. So there was some party happening that night. Rose and I were supposed to meet up, but before I got there, she texted me that Royce was back."
"I remember that. The next day at school people were talking about Royce showing up at the party. I assumed it was the same one you were going to when I asked you to come over..."
"It was. Rose was freaking out, so I knew what I had to do."
"You did the right thing," I manage to say. Except, no. He was supposed to come over and comfort me that night. My best friend. My everything. Dad had told Mom terrible things over the phone, and then he had come home, gone up to their room, and the next thing I knew, Mom was shouting and he was walking past her, then closing the front door. And I can't remember seeing him in the house ever again. I'm sure he was back a few times. But that's the last time I remember seeing him on the stairs, in the hall. That was it.
XxXxX
There are so many words just everywhere tonight. It's like we decided to come here and speak them on semi-neutral territory. Not exactly Forks. Not my apartment in Seattle.
"Stop being so hard on yourself. It was a shitty situation," I sigh, hoping he stops being emo and starts being playful and naked and excited to hang in the hot tub. Things were quiet after our walk on the beach. I held him a lot when we got back. Tried to snuggle and kiss all the pain away, and he did the same for me.
"I got myself into that shitty situation."
"So what? You did the right thing," I tell him. "I mean, if it had been me... and if you hadn't wanted to stay with me and have a baby together, I would have been heartbroken."
"The right thing? Look at where I am today. Look at Rose. Her life could've been so much better. My life could have been different. I could have been with you."
"You stayed with the person who needed you. You took care of your mistake. You were brave. And I'm here now. We're together, right now. Some people would think, 'Hey, it really worked out for me. I'm a lucky motherfucker!', but you can't see that. I don't get it."
"I married the wrong person, Bella. And then I stayed with her for years. If you hadn't come back last summer, I would have stayed with her, period. That's... crazy."
"You're doing it again. I get it, you married her and she'll always be important, but, seriously, are you ever going to stop telling me about how your wife was the saint you had to let go of because I came back? It's, like, we're going to be sitting around with our grandchildren and you're going to go, 'Kids, before I met Grandma I was married to St. Rosalie. She was swell, but then Grandma came home one summer...' This is ridiculous. I'm going into the hot tub right now. Don't come in unless you want to make out. Like, no talking. Making out only."
Of course, I'm not in the mood to make out with Edward when he joins me, even though he listened, and he's kissing my shoulder and moving up, along my neck, stopping by my ear...
"Uch."
"What? I'm sorry," he says.
Why does he have the roundest eyes when he's apologizing?
"I'll stop talking about her. I only talk about her because you're Bella, and you're everything. I trust you, and I want your advice, and I need your help."
My help. There are many thoughts going through my head as I try to formulate a response.
"I feel... threatened. Like I did back then. She just came in and took you away. I don't want to hear about her," I explain.
"She's not gonna disappear. I'll still have to deal with her, even when the divorce is finalized."
Which means I do, too. I don't like it. I'll never stop being jealous of her. Jealous of her height and weight and hair when she was sixteen, and jealous of everything she's learned about him over the years. Jealous, despite everything Edward told me about her today. The fact is, she knows him in ways I won't know him unless he leaves Forks and moves in with me. And even then, I won't know the Edward who looked at her and gave up his life, his everything for her and their baby, or the Edward who took college classes he couldn't afford and forced himself to graduate. Edward in his early twenties. Edward the young husband. So young. Too young. I missed it all. She helped create this man who's here with me right now. This screw up who left her for me. His pretty wife, for the girl he swears he never forgot. But he's so much more than that. I want the world to see. He's good. He's so good. He always was. Even when he hurt me the most he only did it to help someone who needed him more. And I want to remind him. And let him believe in his goodness again. Maybe if he believes, things will be easier. If he believes that he's good, and that he's the same boy I grew up with and loved so much, maybe he'll forget the crutch he used for years. Forget she ever existed.
It's sick, and pretty crazy, but that's all I want. I want him to forget she ever existed.
XxXxX
There's no such thing as a perfect love. In my experience, the best moments happen when you're with the man whose name you can't share with anyone, because doing so would bring pain and shame and embarrassment to too many people. All other moments are ordinary, and not worthy of being called romantic or beautiful or significant. Ordinary is boring, and predictable. I like secrets. I do. If I didn't, Edward and I would never have happened. Not in high school. Not now. But this isn't just about the thrill of the forbidden, and I think that's why I'm not fucking my boyfriend right now in ways he'd never, ever forget. I'm sad. So I just lie here, my eyes closed, trying to put everything together in my head.
How long until Mom invites us over for dinner? Or his parents. When do I get to be part of that again? How long until they're divorced. How long until we're living together. How long until kids and a house. (How long until no one remembers the ugly parts?) It probably doesn't matter, because I know what happens next. Boredom and frustration and real life. Things that kill the magic (if the magic even existed anywhere outside your own head). And then I'd hate him for killing it. Or blame myself for the inability to sustain it. And our kids would wonder, "What happened to Mom and Dad?", and I really, really don't want them to spend a second of their lives worrying about me.
I hate La Push. This room—the secret square box he's hiding me inside. The plans we're making for the next three weekends. Seattle. The cabin. The ever-present question of when do I get to go back home, to Forks. Mom already told me she wants to go away for Thanksgiving. Like the cliche I am, I toss and turn. But at least when I hit something, it's soft. It's him. And I love it.
if you guys are still interested, I'm planning on completing this in, like, 2 weeks, max. let me know, because if no one cares... why bother? Thanks for reading. miss you guys. hi. when i'm done with this i promise FLUFF.
mwah