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***
There are some things that not even adulthood can ruin. Like really, really good cartoons and goldfish. I shove a few more of the cheddar crackers in my mouth and am temporarily glad that Angela isn't here to tell me how unlady like I look. I smile to myself and don't even want to know what my teeth look like.
I glance down at the keyboard of my laptop and grimace before trying to wipe away the dusting of orange. That can't be good for the mainframe. But I overcame a lot to enjoy these damn little crackers. I mean, who just feels good instantly about eating little fish with eyes and smiles? Any rational person would have to hesitate for a couple of years. Right?
My left foot starts to tingle and I am forced to move. I cross my legs under me and stare back at the monitor. My initial reaction was to laugh when Jake set off the sprinkler system by getting a little too excited about incense. But now, being at home, it bed clothes and no make up I am thinking I may actually bribe him to do it again in the near future. Working from home is top notch.
I begin to type out a formal request for a nonprofit discount when someone knocks. I take another handful of goldfish and wait for them to leave. Who knocks anymore? Well at least here. Anyone I would want to come in would just come in and I really don't want to deal with the other possibilities.
I get down another few sentences before the knocking starts up again. Good Lord. I stare at the door hoping that whoever is on the other side will get my message and leave. The urge to turn up the TV is strong, but then they would know I was here. A real no win situation.
The knock sounds again and it sends perfectly good goldfish flying. I groan and push myself up from the couch, ready to give hell to whoever is behind the door. I pull and pluck at the locks before urging the door open.
My mouth falls open when I see Edward there. His eyes shoot up to meet mine, his hands deep in his pockets. I reach down to hold my flannel shut. I probably should have put on a bra. I chew a little on my cheek and taste the goldfish.
"Hey. I didn't know you were coming over," I say because it sounds like a good excuse for not answering the door. He looks nervous and I just stare at him because he never knocks. Or at least he didn't used to. I sigh.
"Sorry, I just figured I'd stop by. Were you busy though? I can….." He motions towards the empty hall. Slight panic surges through me and I reach for his arm pulling him through my door and shutting it behind me.
"You don't have to tell me you're coming over, I just didn't know you were planning on it. Hell, please don't even knock, but then you'd need a key…" I wander away from him looking through the junk bowl near our door. I know there's an extra key in here somewhere…
"What happened at the office? I went by there to see if you maybe wanted to take a break and get some coffee with me," he asks from behind me. I dump the contents of the bowl out on the small table and really look. Where the hell did that key go? The silence lingers before I realize that he asked me something. I glance back at him my hand still feeling through the mess.
"Umm Jake was trying to ignite some good karma and almost sent our office up in flames," I laugh. My fingers roam over something that I think used to be a hot tamale and then victory. I snatch the key out of the pit and turn around holding my prize above my head.
"That's for me?" he asks. I smile reach for his hand, tugging it from his pocket before pressing the key into it. This seems like a big moment, like there should be a formal exchanging of words. I mean this is a big deal to people right? I stand there for a moment waiting for something inspirational to hit. Screw it. I lean forward and press my lips surely his, taking his bottom lip between mine and sweeping my tongue across it slowly.
Good enough? I pull away and smile before I make my way back to the couch. I may not have gotten inspiration for the words to say to him, but I got a little brain surge about the wording for my proposal. I pull my computer back into my lap and let my fingers fly, ignoring all the little red lines informing me of my misspellings.
Edward shuffles behind me and I glance back at him. Why is he still standing in the entry? He looks between the TV and me several times.
"Well…this is informative," he breathes. I laugh and feel my brow crease. What is he talking about? I pat the couch next to me and try to get the last of my creative blitz down before I can really just relax.
"You learning something from my choice in cartoons?" I ask as I continue to type. I feel the couch sink next to me as he sits. Tom and Jerry is a classic I'm not worried about him having some deep meaning behind it.
"More like learning something about your choice of background music," he chuckles. I glance at him and then at the TV. He reaches out and pulls a piece of hair from my ponytail and begins twirling it around his finger. He pulls himself closer, almost flush against me, but I have to finish this.
"The noise helps me concentrate. I can't deal with silence," I ramble. I always have to have something else in the room. Music, TV, a person, or else I get lost in my thoughts and that's never a good thing.
"How much longer do you need to concentrate for?" he asks. He's so close his breath fans across my ear and my bare neck. I shiver and bend my head to protect my neck. That's not playing fair.
"I just need to send this off and then I should be good," I reply. But he is making it more that difficult. His hands move from my hair to my shoulder to rubbing my back. And its hard because we're still feeling this out, getting used to each other all over again and I'm trying to have boundaries, trying to take this slow, do it right, but when he does those things, touches me like that he makes it really fucking hard.
"Am I being inspirational?" he asks again; this time his lips brush my neck and I throw him a glare before pulling myself away from his heat and his hands.
"You are being a distraction. Can you sit there with your hands to yourself so I can finish this?" I ask. I know it's patronizing, but hell. We haven't exactly 'celebrated' our mutual love and am I more than aware of that fact, but I also do not want to rush. It needs to be right, perfect. And he can wait.
I bite my lip and start typing again, when I hear his damn sexy little chuckle and feel him move into my side again. I grit my teeth and keep my eyes on the screen. I try to move away, but the damn couch ends and I don't really want to move to the floor.
"You'd rather play with the computer than with me?" he whispers. His hands tug at the top of my flannel and exposes my shoulder. I let my eyes slide closed as his lips brush over the skin there. Evil, but so good. I let him make me a little shaky before I pull away and move to the floor across the room.
"I'm not playing, Love. This is work andiIf you're good now I'll play later, but if not then you're night is going to be very disappointing," I warn him giving him the eye. He smirks back at me. Damn him. Why does he know my weaknesses?
"How bout I make us some lunch?" he offers and I know my jaw hit the floor. I was not expecting that. I thought he was going to continue his assault and I'm not sure if I should be relieved or disappointed.
"Can you actually cook?" I ask. I've never seen anything close to homemade at his place. And no, a bowl of cereal doesn't count. He walks towards me and offers me his hands. I look up at him skeptically.
"I'll figure something out," he chuckles. I eye his hands and hold my computer close to me.
"Come on, go sit on the couch. I won't bother you, but as soon as lunch is done, all bets are off," he states. He takes my computer from me and sets in on the table and tugs me to my feet. He pulls too hard and I crash into him, my chest against his and I really should have worn a bra.
I try to move around him, but his hand holds my cheek as he presses his lips to mine. I let him press his lips to mine several times, but keep mine closed. I push him back slowly.
"You said you weren't going to bother me," I tell him. He chuckles and lets me push away from him.
"Sorry. Can't help it," he explains. I roll my eyes and fixate myself on buttoning up my flannel. No way am I going to give him any more excuses. I walk towards the couch and settle into it, my fingers still attached to the buttons. Damn things are so hard to deal with.
"I only have a little more to do," I tell him reaching into my bag of goldfish. I shove a couple in my mouth before looking up at him. He just stares so I smile obnoxiously and cock my head to one side.
"I thought you were making me lunch," I tease. He eyes my goldfish for a moment before meeting my gaze again.
"Give me those," he orders, holding his hand out expectantly. I feel my eyes bulge. Not happening. I pull the package into my chest and wrap my arms around it. I will share a lot of things with this man, important things, but not these.
"Get your own," I test cocking an eyebrow. Yes it's a challenge and it feels damn good to have things be light and fun and nothing weighing down on us. Even if it can't last forever.
"You're really testing my patience, Bella," he mock scolds. "I'm not gonna make you lunch if you're all full from goldfish."
I look down lovingly at my goldfish and hate that he has a somewhat valid point. I chew my bottom lip for a moment before holding them out to him. He snatches them from my grasp before I can change my mind. He doesn't have to know I ate half the bag before he got here. And then comes the shit eating grin I can't suppress. Lord I am such a child today.
"It better be a damn good lunch for me to give those up. Peanut Butter and jelly isn't going to cut it," I warn. He rolls his eyes slightly.
"Just worry about finishing your work," he says. He walks towards the kitchen and I lower my head to focus. I really shouldn't be disappointed he caved. It's what I wanted or at least that's what I'll tell myself.
"Oh and Bella?" I glance over my shoulder at him. He's got that damned smirk going again and it sends tingles down my spine.
"Next time you want me to stop you should put a bra on. Cause next time I'm not going to stop," he smiles. I cross my arms over my chest again. Can't a girl just want a break once in awhile?
I bite my lip and stare at my screen, my flow totally lost and the only thing on my mind being the man in the next room and how the hell I am going to control myself long enough to make sure everything is going to work out. Because as much as I want him, which is beyond measurement at this point. We're not done with words yet. And words come first. Or at least I will make them come first. Lord I have a dirty mind.
***
I mix the tuna a little bit and let my mind drift. To Bella. To my embarrassing break down. To the past few weeks that I don't want to remember. I want to pretend that none of it happened and just move on and be with her.
God, I cried all over her like a little girl.
I squirt some mustard into the bowl and stir a little more. I can hear a combination of her cartoons and her mumbling from the other room. It makes me smile. I fell in love with a woman that watches cartoons while she works and talks to herself. I want her to meet my family. I want to feel her constantly.
I put some lemon and mayo in next and keep mixing. The mindless activity is nice. It keeps me focused. Because honestly, it took everything I had to come here today. I was scared and nervous and embarrassed that she'd reject me after she found everything out. Plus, who wants a man that cries like a baby?
I sprinkle some salt and then go and look inside of her cupboards. I scan all of the junk; her goldfish, the chips and boxes of Poptarts, until my eyes land victoriously on the red box.
I crush a few Ritz crackers up and sprinkle them into the tuna before popping a few slices of toast into the toaster. I slice a couple of tomatoes and then wait.
If I lean a certain way, I can see Bella sitting on the couch. Her hair is pulled up high on top of her head and her clothes are raggedy and too big on her. But she looks adorable. Like… well, like everything.
The toast pops out and I make the sandwiches before moving to put everything back in the fridge.
When I close the door, I stop to see everything stuck to it. There are random silly pictures, menus, postcards, and notes. Really funny notes mostly from Emmett to Bella.
I scan one that reads: Please call 21 back, Iz. He calls every hour on the hour and if I have to hear his voice one more time, I'll puncture my eardrums with your toothbrush.
I laugh because Emmett can be so dramatic.
"Bella," I call. "Lunch is ready."
"Give me 30 seconds, Love," she calls from the living room.
I grab our plates and set them on the table and then go back for drinks.
I pause at the fridge again. 21? I know that's not the first time I've heard some weird reference to an anthropomorphized number.
Her hands wind around my waist, jerking me out of my thoughts, and she squeezes me tightly. She presses her cheek to my back and says, "This had better be pretty fucking good to give up my goldfish."
I turn in her arms and pull her against my chest. "Promise it'll be the best tuna you've ever had."
"The best?" she asks and quirks an eyebrow at me. "That's a lofty goal, Love."
"Don't question my skills," I tell her with a wink and she pulls away and heads for the table.
I pull her chair out for her before I sit down. "Taste it," I urge when she just stares down at the sandwich.
She lifts half of the sandwich and sniffs it. "Bella," I say with a laugh but she ignores me.
Her tongue darts out to taste it before finally taking a bite. I watch her chew, swallow, lick her lips, and then finally she looks up at me with a grin. "It's pretty damn orgasmic," she says and chuckles.
And I groan because, well, all of the tongue flashing and the lip licking and the swallowing combined with the word orgasmic just turned me on. Who knew tuna fish sandwiches could be hot?
I take a bite of my own sandwich and we eat in silence for a minute before I have to ask.
"Bella? I have a question."
"Have at it then, Love."
She licks the tips of her fingers as she finishes and… just… fuck me. I look at her nose because it's the only thing that doesn't make me think of some form of sex. I need to ask this question.
"What does the number 21 mean?"
"Ummm… legal drinking? The number of times a day I wish for a chai? The number of ties you own…" Her voice trails off on a laugh and she tilts her head at me. "Am I getting warmer?"
"I mean the note on the fridge…. From Emmett. Telling you to call 21 back."
Her eyes drop immediately to the table and she fidgets slightly before sighing. "It's just someone I used to know."
"Someone…" I look down at her hands which are twisted together. "Someone named twenty-one? Was that his parents lucky number or something?"
She pushes up from her chair and grabs our plates from the table and walks to the sink. "Um, no, his name is Jerod. I don't think anyone's parents are that mean."
I stand up and watch her rinse the dishes. She's staring intently and scrubbing hard at nothing. "So why does Emmett call him 21?"
She makes a loud, annoyed noise and starts putting the dishes in the dishwasher with much more force than necessary. "It's just a nickname Emmett gave him."
"If it's just a nickname why are you abusing the plates?" I ask and walk closer to her.
She turns around slowly and leans against the counter. "You know that I want this to work between us, right? That there isn't anything or anyone I want more than you?"
I narrow my eyes in confusion and walk until I'm directly in front of her until our chests are almost touching. I reach out and tilt her chin up. "Tell me."
"Before you, Emmett liked to number the people in my life," she sighs. "So Jerod was the 21st man in my life. Hence 21."
She keeps her eyes cast downwards but leaves her hands on my hips. 21?
"What number am I?" I ask before I can decide whether or not I actually want to know.
"You don't have a number."
I shake my head though, because I do have a number obviously. And I need to know what it is. "What number am I?" I repeat.
Finally, she looks up and gives me a hard stare. "You. Don't. Have. A. Number."
"Fine." I cross my arms over my chest. "What was the last number before me?"
"Seriously, Edward. Really? It doesn't matter."
"Obviously it matters." My voice is low- lower than usual. "It matters to me. I told you what you wanted to know about my past because you asked. Because it mattered to you. I'm asking for the same courtesy."
She grits her teeth. "You want to know? You want to know how many times I failed before you? How many people I hurt? Is that what you want?" she asks and her voice is hard and I want to tell her no, I don't what to know. But I'd be lying. "Fine. 22, Edward. 22 men who did nothing but try to love me and I pushed them all away. Satisfied?"
She pushes away from the counter and starts to walk away. I grab her wrist and pull her back to me. Her eyes are glassy from unshed tears.
"So… I'm 23?" I clarify. God. I'm her 23rd boyfriend. Something about that, I feel like, should bother me a little bit.
She sighs heavily and says, "No, Edward. In all the ways that count you're one. The only one."
The tears spill over and slide down her cheeks and she breaks away from my hold and walks away.
It's not that I'm turned off necessarily. It's just that… well, I'm 23. 22 men have touched her before me. It's difficult for me to process this information. And it's even harder to contain my urge to find every single one of them and punch them in the face for making her feel like she wasn't enough for them. For not fighting for her.
I walk into the living room where she's pounding away at her keyboard with tears streaming down her face.
"Bella," I say but she doesn't look up at me. I sigh and walk over to her, pulling the computer from her lap and setting it down on the table. She looks down at her hands in her empty lap.
"Can I say something?" I ask and sit down next to her. I don't wait for her to answer though. I turn my body so that I'm facing her and tug on her arm until she looks at me. "22, right?" She shrugs and looks back down again. "22 times that you tried. 22 times that you were hurt by somebody that didn't try hard enough for you. So maybe you see it as 22 fails, Bella, but I think it's so much more than that."
I tug on her arms until she gives in and crawls into my lap. "And for the record," I tell her and wipe the tears from her cheeks. "Thank god I'm 23. I hate even numbers."
***
This is the moment. The one I've been avoiding since I saw the small speckle of light at the end of this long ass tunnel. No more hiding, no more evasive answers. This is going to be the test. This is the moment where I am going to show him all my dark corners and then hope like hell that he doesn't realize that my dark corners are a scary ass place where he could get his shiny shoes dirty beyond repair.
I push myself back off his lap and smile when he tries to keep me there. I can't do this in his lap, so close to him. The only comfort I deserve during this unloading is my own arms. I scramble to the other end of the couch and wrap my arms securely around my legs.
"You have an amazing way with words, you know? Everything you say is perfect. But, I have to correct some gross errors in your fantastic speech," I say. There is an inner battle to keep myself on his end of the couch. His arms are still slightly stretched out to me and I want to crawl back into him, but I can't. This needs to happen.
"You give me to much credit in your mind. There is no fault in the 22. They didn't fail to fight for me. I didn't give them the chance," I explain. His eyes stay latched on me and I try to draw some strength from them for this next piece. Cause its going to hurt.
"They all got an exit like I gave you. There was never any say in it for them," I breathe. The words linger in between us and I wait for him to draw them in, to realize that the pain I caused him was a planned attack. Something that I have mastered, coined even. The Izzy exit.
Edward shakes his head slowly, but I cut him off before he can start the argument I can see forming in his mind.
"So I wasn't the victim you make me out to be. I did this to myself. To them. I did it knowingly, on purpose," I spell it out for him. A small part of the person I am no longer trying to be rears her nasty head. Maybe I can give him one last chance to leave.
"So... let me just get something straight." He holds a hand up. "You managed to find 22 completely spineless assholes to date, right? Because they just went along with everything you said and did, right? So if you harped them enough, Bella, would they have cut their left hands off?"
I gape as the words I used against him are thrown back in my face. Balking, my mouth opens and shuts several times. They were innocent in all of this. He can't take the blame from me. I need it.
"So you left on purpose, right? To hurt me? Well, sweetheart, I already knew that. I get it. I get the defense mechanism. What do you want me to do? Tell you that you suck because you're afraid? Fine. You suck. You got scared and your ran away from me, even though I told you not to a million times, to hurt me. Does that make you feel better?"
I pull myself back into couch even further and try to steal myself against his words. Because they make me want to believe that maybe it's going to be ok.
"The thing is, I suck too. A lot. I do stupid things and I sit in a room and hold a guitar that I haven't played in years and listen to old records and cry sometimes. I work a shitty job that I hate because I'm too fucking afraid to do anything else. So if you want to talk about the shit we do when we get scared, well, I think I win in this suckfest because at least you do something."
This is why I can say those three words now. Because he is sitting across from me, flaunting his pain to make me feel better. Saying things and admitting things that I know are hard for him, just for me. I inch closer and ghost my fingers up his arm slowly.
"You just need to know, Love. You need to know what I was thinking when I did those things. You need to know so that when I try to do those things to you…." I cut myself off and shake those thoughts from my head. "IF I try to do those things to you, you understand why."
I lift my eyes to his and plead for him to understand. To know that I am doing this for him- for us. I trail my finger down his arms and take his hand in mine. His fingers grasp for mine but I keep the grip light, tangling our fingers together in motion.
"One day you will have the displeasure of meeting my mother. You'll meet her and she will smile and preen and you will wonder how a woman who is so put together could possibly be related to this mess you claim to love," I smile the words. He opens his mouth but I raise an eyebrow halting his words.
"What you won't see is the years I spent watching my mother terrorize most of the single male population of San Francisco. You'll hear her private school vocabulary and well placed laugh, but you won't hear the sobs of the men as they begged her to take them back."
I take a deep breath and keep my eyes on our fingers. Watching the collaboration of their movement makes me feel closer to him; linked to him.
"So it might not be obvious to you that she spent so much time chasing people away, she accidentally pushed me out. I knew more about the men in her life than I did her. And I watched her destruction and I decided to not be like that," I state. The last part of the statement is solid because that truth has never changed.
My confidence slips quickly and I feel ridiculous exposing my sob story like this. I have no real trauma to explain my faults. No one I loved died, I was never abused. Obviously even in my attempt to justify myself I am failing.
"It sounds silly. This is silly." I retract my hand from his and grip my head. Why did I think any of this made sense? It all seems so small in comparison to his revelations.
"Silly? Bella." He breathes out. He stands and begins pacing the floor. I watch as his feet create a little track on the rug. I keep my focus on his feet. On those chucks I love so much.
"Silly are those ridiculous pictures on your fridge. The way you feel isn't silly. I get it. And I'm sorry for Little Bella who didn't have the kind of mom that she deserved growing up. But you're not your mom. You don't hurt anyone. For god's sake, Bella, out of the 22 that you dated, how many have you matched off with someone else?"
I shake my head because he's missing the point. Because I wish I was still Little Bella. I wish I still thought my mom could love me more than all of them and I wish I still had the chance to not have pushed aside 22 hearts.
"That's not the point. I let them believe that they had a chance. I flirted, I held their hands, I kissed them and gave them no reason to believe that it was all in vain; that no matter how much they meant the pretty little things they said, the songs they wrote, it would end the same way. They didn't know, but I did," I press the words at him frantically. Because this isn't supposed to be a pity party. This is me arming him against the dark corners inside of me.
"I thought I was doing them a favor. Thought I was being the anti-mother, but I wasn't. I don't want you to tell me I didn't do anything wrong, I want you to know that I know it was wrong. I know it was wrong, but before you I didn't see it."
He's paused his pacing, but he's too far and I need his warmth to finish. I reach for him and grasp his hand, pulling him slowly back to me. I sigh as his weight makes the cushion sink and I melt into his side.
"So when I freak out when you try to kiss me in public or try to push you away because you left an empty drawer for me in your dresser, I need you to remember all that. Remember that you're the one that made me want to be different and you're allowed to push me. I'm asking you to push me," I plead and hope he gets what I am saying.
I can't promise that I am instantly able to reverse years of backwards thinking, but I can change if he wants me, if he helps me. He nods and takes a steady breath.
"I promise to tell you when you're being stupid and irrational, which you are being. Because you don't have to apologize for any of it. And shit, Bella, can I just say for the record that I'm really fucking happy? Because if you weren't exactly the way you are, one out of those 22 douche bags would have gotten you," he replies and I can't keep the silly smile off my face. He really should write Hallmark cards.
"And maybe you think it's fucked up but I still don't. I don't think it's anymore fucked up than what I did to Hannah. Do you think I should go back to her and apologize? Should I go to her and ask her to take me back? Should I feel bad for what I did? Because I don't. But if we're playing this game and going this way, then maybe I should. Maybe I should go and apologize for stringing her along for so long and then dropping her on her ass when I realized that she wasn't what I wanted."
I pull away a little with his words. I don't like the name Hannah mixed into all this and he's making me a little dizzy with his analysis.
"It's your right to be able to decide what and who you want. Because if one of those 22 were what you wanted, you would've come back. You came back for me, didn't you?" he asks. His eyes plead for my answer, but he already knows it.
"I came back for you," I confirm. I swing my leg over his lap and press my forehead to his. My hands delve into his hair and I let the silence settle around us. I'm hoping he means it all because at this point I am done. I can feel myself slowly fusing to him, and I love it.
***
I tighten my arms around her and hold her close to me just for a minute. Because while this conversation isn't over, I hate it. I hate that she's hurting, I hate that she thinks all of these things about herself, that she has such a screwed up perception of who she is. I hate that she doesn't see what I see when I look at her. I hate that I have all of my own fucked up shit to deal with and that she has all of her own.
I wish we could go back to where all of these things started and just love each other then. Before all of this shit fucked us both up.
I wish I could go back to Little Bella and give her a hug and tell her that it'd all work out okay.
"Remember how I love you?" I whisper against her hair.
She shifts and presses herself even closer into me. "Remember how I only love you?"
I smile. "That's not true. You love Emmett and Angela and Jake… even though I don't really understand that last one."
"You really want to group yourself in with Jake? And here I was trying to make you feel special."
I tangle my fingers in her hair and tug gently until she looks up at me. I smile down at her and press my lips to her nose. "I already know I'm special-er than Jake, Bella. My point is, I understand what you're saying. I hear you. But I also trust you. I trust that you won't hurt me. And I love you. You and all of your crazy theories and insecurities and plans, okay? I love you. So if you get scared and if you freak out I just want you to tell me. Because out loud everything sounds a lot better."
She chuckles and it feels so good to know that I put that there. That I replaced her tears with a smile. It's hope in its finest form. "See, and here I am thinking that everything sounds like a hot mess coming from my mouth."
I hum and smirk a little bit before dipping my head and pressing my lips against hers. "Nothing." I press my lips to hers again, a little bit harder. "That comes out of this mouth." I lean forward and take her lower lip between mine and swipe my tongue across it. "Is ever a mess."
I run my hands up and down her back, applying some pressure because I want to feel her against me and over me and everywhere. Her hands slide up and she tangles her fingers in my hair. I feel like I've been apart from her for too long. I want all of her right now.
I slide my hands down to her hips and over her ass and pull her against my hips. "Bella," I whisper against her mouth. "I need you."
She pulls away slightly and gives me three quick kisses on the lips before she crawls off. "I think we need to talk more before any naked happens," she says with a sigh.
I groan and drop my head back against the couch. I have nothing to say right now.
"I just think that there are things we need to make sure are clear before we start all that up again. Cause once we start, I won't be able to stop. And we need to be straight, you know?"
No, I don't know.
"What else needs to be cleared up?" I ask.
I feel her moving and then she's kneeling next to me and has her hand on my arm. "Like, I need to be sure you forgive me."
"Bella," I groan and rub my face with my hands. "Bella, why would I even be here if I didn't forgive you?"
"I think you think you forgive me. But really you just missed me enough to overlook it. You're sure that it's never going to be used against me when you're angry? You're never going to bring it up when you're pouting?"
"When I'm… can you give me a little more fucking credit than that?" I snap at her. "I didn't overlook anything. You pissed me off. But you coming back means more to me than you leaving." Something like a growl comes out of my mouth and I stand up again and start pacing. "It just… it really pisses me off that you're doing this."
"It pisses you off that I want to make sure we're square before I climb on your junk?" she asks and laughs but there's no humor in it. "Yeah, I'm being irrational."
"I don't care if we don't have sex until next fucking year, Bella. It pisses me off that you're starting this shit. I wouldn't have come here, I wouldn't make you tuna fish sandwiches and kiss you if I didn't forgive you. And you have to come around and say some insulting shit like that that just really pisses me off."
"You do realize that it's normal for me to want to know that you forgive me? I am not a fucking mind reader."
"Right. Sorry. I'll spell it out for you. I forgive you." I lean down and drop a quick kiss to her forehead. "I have things to do. I'll see you later."
Her mouth drops open and she says, "Don't leave when we're angry. Don't do that."
"I'm not angry," I tell her and slip my shoes on. "I have errands and shit. I'll talk to you later."
"You just told me several times that you were pissed and now you're magically better and headed to run errands? Fine, Edward. Have fun." She starts walking up the stairs.
"I just spent the entire afternoon telling you that I love you. I told you how much I loved you over and over again today and you can't figure that I forgive you. But you have no issue hearing me if I'm pissed, right? You can hear me say I'm angry and believe it but you can't hear me say I love you without doubting it. So, yeah, Bella, I'm pissed. And I don't want to sit here pissed at you. So I'm going to leave and I'm going to run errands."
"You do realize that love is not a mutually exclusive emotion?" she asks and comes back down the stairs. "You can love me and not be happy with me… hence not forgive me. I know you love me. Just like you know I fucking love you. But this… walking out when you're pissed? Not okay."
"Thanks for that," I tell her with a nod and walk towards the door, because her tone is condescending and pissing me off even more. "I was getting a little confused there for a second. You know, because I'm fucking annoyed as shit with you right now. I couldn't figure out how to be pissed and still love you at the same time."
I turn the knob and step outside. "I'll call you later."
***
there you have it....thoughts, feelings, rants, are all welcome....