I love my beta, WriteOnTime. I love Ciaobella27 for reading this for me.
I don't own Twilight.
I wonder sometimes if it's supposed to be this easy—the whole cheating thing. Because that's pretty much what he's doing, and I seem to have no problem with it. On one hand, we've done nothing physical apart from that one kiss in New York, and we don't talk about sex, and we're not making plans to sneak off and do things that would make what we have absolutely disgusting and repulsive. On the other hand, we speak on the phone for hours like lovers, and text each other 'I love you' and 'I miss you' at every opportunity. And it's so easy. Like breathing. Until it's not.
Because the second he hangs up, or I hang up, and I'm over the euphoria of hearing his voice, this thing happens. Like every minute I live is overcast. Endless cloud and humidity, but the rain never falls. It makes everything sad, it makes it hard to take deep, real breaths. This disappears the second he's back, and I realize it's unhealthy. And I think he knows. And I think he hates it. And sometimes, I know he's about to say something and leave forever, and leave me to be happy on my own, get used to life without him. But he doesn't. Why would he? He's just as selfish as I am. Maybe this is why we've found each other.
Sometimes it feels like we've been doing this forever, but it's only been three days. They've been pretty busy days for him. He's been less and less available to talk to me. I wonder if the novelty of it all is wearing off, if he knows he has me and doesn't even need to make an effort anymore—like in movies, or books, or stories you hear from friends who are talking about their friends, or friends of their friends. My gut tells me I'm wrong, that it's not like that between us, and that if it were, I'd know better than to remain in this situation. I keep telling myself that we're just trying to figure things out, and that he's trying to be less obvious about it. But how is anything different now? It's like I know it's not different, but I have to convince myself it is, because I need a reason for why he's not on the phone with me all day, talking to me all day, laughing with me all day. He hasn't been laughing a lot. He hasn't been listening to me tell stories and saying "you're so funny" over and over again. I don't think I like that, but I'm willing to give him some more time, maybe a few days, before I bring it up and ask him what's wrong. Because I don't want to be nagging him. I don't want to drive him away.
Everything about my behavior is so pathetic. Jane would probably hit me over the head with something if she knew what I was doing. And I'd deserve it. What bothers me the most is that I know I shouldn't be in this situation, but I am. If any of my friends were doing what I'm doing with Edward now, I'd tell them to get out. Stop. Find someone who is willing to give up everything for you. I've judged so many people for their inability to leave messed-up situations. Their inability to let go of a man who wasn't giving them everything they deserved. I'm so ashamed right now of all the judgments that I've made. My parents tried to teach me one thing growing up; never judge. You don't know why someone is in the situation they're in, and you don't know how they got there. You certainly don't know the reasons why they're staying in it. And me? I'm just about as judgmental as you can get. I judge people, I pity them, I mock them for decisions they've made. I do this on a daily basis. It's so easy to do. It's so easy to say things, throw words around. And now I'm in love with a man who's dating someone else, and I'm just sitting here, waiting for something to happen, telling myself it's okay because I had dreams of him being with me. I suppose it makes it easier, blaming the dreams for the decisions I'm making. I wonder all day long if I'd be making different decisions if Edward wasn't Edward. I'd like to think that things would never have gotten to where they are now if not for my dreams. I don't know. I can't honestly say.
It's cold out, but I've agreed to meet Rosalie for drinks. Happy hour. Awesome. She's excited about an offer she received today for an internship, and wants to celebrate. I'm wearing cute things. I'm wearing a lacy black bra because I want to feel especially pretty today. Like if I wear pretty undergarments, I'll feel prettier on the outside. And if I'm really pretty, a boy on the opposite coast will feel it, or know it, or maybe his cousin will mention it in their next conversation, and he'll remember that I'm so, so pretty—and why is he with the blonde again? Pathetic. Sad. I laugh at how stupid I am. I check my phone. He's sent pretty words. I try to make mine pretty too, and try to picture his face as he reads them. He says that whenever he receives a text from me, or an email, or sees my number flashing across his screen, he's happier than he ever was before. So I asked him if that means he just gets happier and happier with each call, text, or email. He said yes. Is it possible that he's really that happy? He doesn't sound happy. He sounds stressed. He snaps. He says 'shit' and apologizes and says pretty things again. What am I doing to him? I don't know.
I expect to meet Rosalie at a bar near campus, but she wants to meet up in Royce's neighborhood. I'm not looking forward to hanging out with him, because he always asks about his uncle, and the firm. I hate both his uncle and the firm, so I have to lie. There is nothing more painful than having to fake enthusiasm for things you despise. I try to fake it, and I think Royce is too busy feeling good about finding me a job and reminding himself of how awesome he is to notice. And he is a decent guy. Felix says he is, and I trust Felix's judgments for the most part. Oh. I really hope Felix isn't here. I really, really hope Rosalie or Royce haven't invited him.
"Bella!"
Any anxiety I've been feeling disappears when I see Rosalie walking towards me outside the bar. Her smile is big. She's so friendly. She's been so good to me these past couple of months. I hug her, and she grabs me and hugs me back hard. She reminds me of Edward. Thinking of him makes something burst in my stomach, and I'm tingly all over.
"It's good to see you," she tells me. "How was New York?"
"Awesome. It was good."
"Did you get to meet up with Edward? I know he's been busy lately. Esme and Chelsea have been complaining about how difficult it is to get a hold of him."
The tingles disappear, and I know I'm pouting at the mere mention of her name.
"Yeah, a bunch of times," I mumble.
"Oh, cool. I know you guys are close."
"Yeah, we are."
Tell me she's not that stupid. She saw how we were when I moved out of Jane's and Edward held me when I was crying on her couch. She knows we talk on the phone all the time.
But I guess she's that stupid. She gives me the brightest smile, and we're at a table, and I'm being introduced to a bunch of people. They talk about shit that doesn't interest me. I pretend I'm not about to fall asleep listening to them talking about classes and internships and clerkships. Oh boy, they love to hear themselves speak. They love it. No wonder they're doing what they're doing in life. You silly motherfuckers, there are hundreds of law schools with thousands of law students and even more and more lawyers all around this country. Get over yourselves. And take it down a notch—everyone can hear you. You're awesome. We get it. You're a first-year nobody in an okay law school who can discuss a few decisions. I feel so old right now, but most of these people are older, and they're not undergrads in their 5654th year of college.
And because things can only get more annoying, Felix shows up. He sits next to me. He hugs me. He kisses my cheek. I'm on my third drink, so I'm sitting really close to him, our faces almost touching, and it's normal—we used to sit like this all the time. Except I know I won't do anything with him. And he won't try anything with me. We've been through this. He doesn't understand why we don't have sex and don't hang out anymore, but he respects my decisions, or so he tells me, and it's all good. But I feel weird. Like really weird. Like I know something is wrong. And I know what I'm feeling. I feel guilt. And this pisses me off, because it's late in New York, and he's probably curled up on the couch with her. And how fucking dare he?
"Felix, I need a cigarette, I'll be right back."
"Want me to come with?" he asks.
"No, it's cool." He hates cigarette smoke.
I stand outside the bar and take out my phone. It's too cold to text. It's disgusting out. I text anyway. He calls me instead of texting back.
"Having fun with my cousin?"
"Yes, she's awesome. Her friends are losers," I tell him.
"Still at the bar?"
"Yeah, I took a cigarette break. It's cold."
"Go back inside, Bella. I don't want you to—"
"So warm me up."
"Yeah?" He chuckles.
"Yeah."
"Are you wearing gloves?"
"Random, Edward."
"Hat?" he continues.
"Ugh. No."
"Is your nose red?"
"Are you high?"
"I miss you," he says.
"God, I miss you."
"Go back inside, call me tonight when you're back at your apartment."
"Yeah."
I hang up. Why is he so sexy? Am I just drunk? No. His voice is hot. And I'm a little drunk. There was nothing hot about that conversation, but Edward asked me if my nose was red, and that made me want to grab him through my phone and rub myself against him and devour his face and scratch and bite and fuck… I need to go home. Otherwise being here is just going to be more depressing. I just want him. And I want him when I go back to my apartment. I want him in bed. I want him everywhere. Everywhere I go, every room I walk into, I allow myself to fantasize that he'll be sitting there, or standing there, waiting for me. Surprise, Bella. And after that, only good things happen. Kisses and sex and words and forever. But he wasn't in my office when I walked in this morning. He wasn't at my apartment when I returned home. He wasn't sitting in the back row of my second class, like he was in my daydream.
I forgot to light a cigarette when I came out, but it's just too cold for that now. I turn to find Rosalie standing a few feet away from me, looking out into the street.
"Hey, what are you doing out here?" I ask her.
"I saw you walking out. You looked upset."
"Um, I'm good. I just wanted a cigarette."
"Oh, okay. Good."
"Yeah."
"Bella?" she says.
"Hmmm?"
"Were you on the phone with my cousin?"
"Yeah."
I try really hard to remember if there was anything I said that could tip her off that Edward and I are… I don't know. 'Dating'? Sure. Let's call it that it. I try really hard to make it seem like I'm not trying hard to remember.
"Bella, are you guys having an affair?"
"Excuse me?"
"I'm sorry, I really hate getting involved in this type of situation, but he's my cousin, and I didn't mean to listen in on your conversation, but I—"
"It's cool, Rose. We're just good friends." Sick. Good friends. I want to cry and throw something and throw up.
"Be honest with me."
"It's really cold out here," I point out.
"Bella, I let you live with me. I helped you find a job. You're my friend. I have to know—"
"Why? It doesn't matter."
"He's with someone, of course it matters. Chelsea is my friend. She's a good person."
"Rosalie, I promise, nothing happened." Except he kissed me. And he loves me. And oh my God, let me show you the texts he sent me this morning. He's the sweetest. He makes everything bright. He's everything. Shut up. Don't ruin this.
"Bella…"
"Rose, he's my friend. I miss him a lot."
"This is really none of my business—"
"Then why are you still talking about it? It's cold, let's go back inside."
I'm so embarrassed. This is so embarrassing. But also, I'm really angry. If she says anything to Edward, or anything to Chelsea… I will destroy her. I don't know how, but I will. If she ruins this for me, I will make sure she never forgets it. And fuck, this is so bad. I feel like this small, small person right now. Guilty. Dirty. Disgusting. Or course sweet, kind Rosalie would be the first to find out about this.
"No," she says. "It's none of my business, and I'm not going to call Chelsea and tell her that her boyfriend is cheating on her. But… it all makes sense now. You guys started this when he was in Seattle. I just assumed… I never thought he'd do anything like that, or that you'd be okay just… You're better than this."
"Rose, don't…"
"You are," she insists. "And so is he. I'm so mad at him right now."
"Listen, it's not like that. We haven't done anything, and we're not going to…"
Her face scrunches up and she starts shaking her head. "I don't even want to know about that. I'm just so… disappointed."
"In me?" I ask her.
"In everyone."
"But nothing happened. You need to relax."
"Why? You could have someone like Felix, who adores you, and you'd rather have an affair with my cousin? It makes no sense."
"It's not… it's not affair. And you don't understand, Edward was… like back then, and through the years…"
"No, I understand," she tells me. "He was your first love. But we grow up, and we get over those things. That's part of life."
"Oh, this is bullshit. Don't give me a lecture on life."
"I don't want to lecture you."
"Then don't. I'm not sleeping with your cousin. No need to worry."
I think she's going shout at me. Say cruel things. I expect her to walk away. I don't know. I wait for her to do something, say something, and she does—but it's definitely not what I expected. She hugs me. Tight and long and real.
"Bella, you're gorgeous. You can have any guy—"
"I just want him."
"But why?" she whispers.
"I've loved him since I walked into class late and sat behind him. When I saw him at your party, it was like… I can't even describe what I felt."
Rosalie fumbles through her bag and shakes her head. "I'm sorry. You need a tissue," she says. "I didn't mean to upset you."
"I'm not crying."
"Bella, sometimes things don't work out for the simplest reasons. Like timing. Or circumstances. Take me and Emmett, for instance. I had such a big crush on him. I thought we'd be able to make things work. When he told me he was going to be a dad, I was crushed, but I always thought maybe next year, or the next. Maybe I'll go to college in Port Angeles. Or move there after college. Or maybe he'll move to where I am. Wishful thinking. Sometimes, things just don't happen. And you can try to hold on to people, or your fantasies, or you can let go and live your life."
"It wasn't just a crush, Rose," I snap. "And it sucks for you and Emmett, but you can always do something to make it work."
"Bella, no. I have my life. I want to achieve certain things. He has a beautiful kid he's never going to live more than ten minutes away from. I'm not moving to Forks just to try things out with a guy I liked in high school. You have to learn to let go, or you're not doing anything with your life."
"That's your choice. And I get it, you and Emmett had a thing, but your cousin and I love each other."
She sighs. "I'm not going to get through to you."
I shrug.
"So what now?" she asks me.
"Nothing."
"And you're willing to just wait?"
"I'm not waiting for anything."
"Then what are you doing?"
"Getting another drink," I tell her.
"That's probably a good idea."
She gives me a strange look. I don't know what it is. I think maybe disgust, but that's not her style. Pity. Possibly. Contempt. Probably not. Confusion. Yeah. That makes sense.
XxXxX
I stumble into my apartment. I fall asleep in my clothes. I wake up because someone is calling me. It's super late. No, it's not. It's only ten thirty. I find my phone. It's him. It's always him.
"Hi," I try to sing. He likes to hear me smile.
"Did I wake you? I'm sorry."
"You're not."
"I'm not," he agrees.
I yawn and he laughs. "Bella, go back to sleep."
"No. I had to get up anyway. I'm like lying here in my jeans and coat."
"Someone partied hard…"
"Shut up."
"Someone's a little drunk."
"Edward…"
"I like drunk Bella," he tells me. He seems to be in a better mood than usual.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Well, I'm only a little tipsy. Not your lucky day."
"I disagree," he says.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Weren't you about to take off your clothes?"
"Shhh. Be good."
"I'm tired of being good."
"So you want to be bad."
He laughs. "Well, it's not like I haven't been bad already."
"You've been bad tonight?" I ask. I want him to die.
"I've been bad for weeks."
"Ah."
"I can't stop thinking about you," he says.
I take off my coat and shrug off my sweater. I'm too lazy to pull off my jeans. They're tight. I can just sleep like this. But they're so tight. It won't be comfortable. I undo the top button and the zipper.
"That's bad. But good. And bad," I manage to say between yawns.
"I can't hear you. Stop moving around and talking to yourself."
"Sorry, I was taking off my top."
"Not fair," he says.
"What's not fair?"
"I didn't get to watch."
"Edward…"
"What?"
"I don't know," I whisper. "Nothing."
"I miss you."
"I miss you too."
"I haven't seen you like that in… years."
His voice. I close my eyes, and everything comes back. His eyes and his smiles and his arms and how we moved and loved and fucked and I just want it all.
"Bella? Shit. Don't be mad at me. I just… I don't want to stay away from you. I wanted you in New York. I want you now."
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This is where everything changes. This is where I say 'go away' or 'be good'… or it's where I tease and whisper and call him 'baby' and let him hear me and let him tell me what to do. How to do it. Or… or…
"You'd love to see me now," I tell him.
Decision made.
"Yeah?"
"I'm half naked on my bed."
"Yeah?"
"I still have my jeans on… but just a bra."
"What color?"
"Black."
"I love you in black. Your skin…"
"Yeah. I thought of you when I wore it today."
"Really?" he asks.
"Yes."
"I think of you all the time," he tells me.
"Really?"
"Yeah. I've never thought about anyone as much as I think of you. It's crazy."
"My jeans are tight," I inform him.
"So take them off."
"Okay."
They're off.
"When you fell asleep at Jane's and I was watching the news, it was dark in the room, and the television brightened the room. The flashes of light, on your legs… I couldn't stop staring. I wanted to put my hands all over, and kiss them. Your knees. Inside your thighs. I want it all."
"I wanted you to touch me," I confess.
"And in New York… so many times I wanted to kiss you. I would have begged you to touch me. Sleep with me. You have no idea."
"I do. On my couch, when we slept on it together, I woke up, and I wanted you so much… I was like, touching… I wanted to turn around and…"
"Shit. When I kissed you… nothing has ever… you have no idea, Bella."
I do. I know. I get it. I know. He has no idea. I close my eyes, and think of him. How warm he was next to me. How good he felt. How much I wanted him. I want him. I really, really do. I want him in every way I didn't get to have him when we were kids. I want him in all the ways I did have him, but more, more, more… not just three weeks. I want time. I want more time with him. I'm so desperate for him. I want to tell him how I always think of him before I sleep. I think of him, and when I really, really want him, I come and come and say his name and imagine his body over me, under me. His mouth. His hands. I bite down on my hand when I have to scream. I remember Edward at seventeen making me soar. And I make up stories in my head of how he'll come over, fuck me, love me. I don't even know the difference when it comes to him. I want to tell him all of this.
My hand… my hand is everywhere. All I need is to listen to him breathe. I can hear how much he wants to be here just by the way he breathes. And he knows what I'm doing. He knows that I touched my nipples, and he knows I'm doing everything he wants to do. He says nothing. I say nothing. My eyes are closed. I just think of nothing but him. Nothing but the boy and the man and what was and what will be, because right now I'm finally admitting to myself that it will happen. He's going to come, or I'm going to go, and I'll kiss him and touch him and do so many dirty things. He'll love it. He'll be sweet and rough and so, so good. I'll scream and say 'please' and be good to him, but so very bad, and it will be like nothing before. It will be like nothing else. I think of the possibilities. I think of what I want right now. I want his mouth. I tell him this. He makes a sound. Like a gasp. He says "yeah" and he says my name and… and… when I'm about to have the best orgasm in months and months, he says my name again, and keeps saying 'shit' and 'Jesus' and tells me things. Things he says all the time. Love, want, Bella, beautiful… words and more words and his voice. I'm done, and he's silent, and I do this stupid purring thing.
"You okay?"
"Yeah."
He says nothing. I expect the clichés. "That was hot" or "You sounded so hot" or… I don't know. Something. But he's so quiet.
"Edward?"
"Sorry. Yeah?"
"Nothing. You're super quiet," I tell him.
"I don't know what to say. That…"
"Lemme help you out. That… was hot? Yes? No? Are you over it?"
He laughs. It makes me feel less anxious and paranoid. "Definitely not over it. I was trying to come up with a more original way of saying 'that's the hottest thing I've ever taken part of in my life', but my brain hasn't regained its functions. I just… please do it again?"
We both giggle. He sounds so pretty.
"I… yeah, I don't know what came over me. I didn't… ugh, why is this so awkward?" I ask him.
"Because it is."
"So you were just listening, then?"
"Yeah."
"Weird. Boys usually take care of business on the other end."
"Do you do this on a daily basis?" he asks with a chuckle.
"No, but I've done it a lot before. But… different. I don't know."
"Believe me, I really want to do it now—"
"So let me—"
"It's okay. I can't."
"Oh. Duh."
"No," he quickly says. "It's… I'm at Demetri's, so…"
"Ew! You just let me. Oh my God. Gross. Is he there?"
"He's inside. Of course not."
"Edward!"
"Bel, I'm sorry, but I wasn't going to stop you," he tells me.
"I feel so dirty."
"You're definitely a little dirty."
"Fuck you."
"I love you. I don't want to hang up."
"Then don't."
If he hangs up, I'll get to stay up and think about how I just made myself come while on the phone with him. It's like the last innocent part of our relationship that we've been holding onto is gone. I don't want to dwell on that. So if I make him talk to me until I fall asleep, I won't have to think about it until tomorrow. And that's exactly what I do. I make him talk and talk and talk, and I wonder why he's at Demetri's so late, but I know they hang out until four or five in the morning sometimes, smoking, drinking, talking. I smile because he's not at his apartment. I smile and immediately feel bad, and gross, but then I smile again, because yeah, he's not at his apartment, and that makes me happy.
XxXxX
I'm sorry I missed your call. I know you're in class now. Talk later?
I stare at his text and frown. It's one of those texts you receive that you can't really respond to. He knows I'm in class, so he'll call me later. It's true, I'm here, and I can't talk to him, but I want to text back and forth, I want more than 'talk later?'
I've been avoiding him all day. I've made a decision. I'm going to tell him that I can't do this anymore. I won't give him an ultimatum; I'll just say it's done. We can be friends and talk once in a while, but that's it. If he wants me as much as he says he does, he'll understand that he has to make a decision. If he was never planning on making a decision, I'll know that I did the right thing. Because this? This thing we have? It's not the right thing. And I'm not even talking about morals and right or wrong—I'm talking about the right thing for me. I'm not going to be the girl who has phone sex with a guy who's going to share a bed with his girlfriend later that night. No. Jesus. I could be out having a life. Rosalie was right. I deserve better. And Edward? I'm annoyed. I'm not sure why I'm so annoyed, but I really am. I'm the one who decided to put on a show last night, so to speak. And it was probably a bad idea, but he started it. He started it with that stupid kiss, and telling me he loves me, and wants me. He's the one in a relationship, not me. And while I'm certainly not an innocent party here, I wouldn't have done or said half the things I have if he hadn't made clear that it was more than okay. I don't want to be mad at him. I don't want to be annoyed like I am. But at the end of the day, I have given everything I can possibly give. It's not much, but it's all I've got. Edward? He's living with another woman. It sucks. It hurts—a lot. It's the truth. I have to face reality.
I skip my last class. It's an evening class, and I'm tired. I drank too much last night, and stayed up too late. Work this morning was awful. I probably shouldn't have important conversations in the state that I'm in, but if I put it off… who knows? I keep playing with my phone, dialing his number but hanging up before it rings. How am I supposed to say it? How do I do this? Especially when I don't want to. I jump when my phone rings. It's like a sign. I'm supposed to do this now. Except it's not Edward, it's Jane.
"Hey."
"Bella, hi. What's up?"
"Um, nothing. How are you?" I mumble.
"Fine… Uh, so Jasper's in town this weekend. He wants to get together with you."
"Oh. Well, he can call me."
"Oh."
"Yeah…"
"Cool. I'll tell him that." Her tone is cold and dry and bad, bad things.
"Okay."
"So you're around this weekend?" she asks.
"Yes."
"Bella…"
"What, Jane?"
"I don't want things to be weird like this. I'm sure I'll be seeing you this weekend, and—"
"You don't have to," I tell her. "We can make sure that this doesn't happen."
"What's wrong, Bella? You sound upset."
I hate it when she does this. I'm mad at her. I wasn't upset before she called.
"I'm fine." Okay, not really, but it's none of her business.
"You're not. Talk to me."
"There's nothing… forget it. It's all good."
"You know, you get into these moods," Jane asks. "Agitated, weird, mean. Had I known you were in one of these moods, I wouldn't have called you."
"Here we go again… you love picking fights, don't you?"
"You're the one picking a fight!" she cries. "I was trying to smooth things over and make plans to hang out."
"Yeah, that's exactly what happened. Whatever, I have to go. I have a few calls to make."
"Oh, with the mood you're in, good luck with that!"
She hangs up, and I have to stop in the middle of the street to take a very deep breath. Jane. She aggravates me. But she's right. I'm in one of those moods. I have been, since I woke up this morning. But she… I can't stand her anymore. The mere thought of her makes me want to claw her eyes out. It's not normal, but it just… is. I don't want to see her this weekend. I don't know why Jasper is hanging out with her—they haven't been speaking for months. Except I don't know what she's been up to since September. For all I know, they're super tight again. Fucking twins. Of course they are. But if it means pissing her off, I'll hang out with Jasper and make sure she ends up picking a fight with him because he didn't spend enough time with his own sister. It always happens. This time, however, I won't feel bad, and I'll make sure she's livid.
Fuck. What am I thinking right now? She's right. Stupid Jane is right. I should avoid talking to anyone. Maybe I should wait until tomorrow to talk to Edward. It's so much easier to just wait until tomorrow. Put it off. Yeah. It's easier to talk to him during the day, anyway. No one around. My stomach feels all weird. I'm nervous, like before an interview or test. Deep, deep breaths. I'll tell him. He'll break up with her. It will be okay. Or he won't break up with her, and I'll recover. Or he'll break up with her, but I'll always be the person who broke them up. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. My head.
Hey Edward, I'm going out. I'll call if I get in before midnight. I love you.
I try not to cry. I don't like lying to him. I want to be able to tell him "I love you" all the time. I hope he lets me. I love him so much.
XxXxX
I'm late. I was supposed to meet up with these girls for a stupid presentation ten minutes ago. My jeans were too tight, so I gave up and threw on a dress instead. I needed tights. I couldn't find them. Then I found them, but I looked stupid in flats. I looked for my boots. Not those boots, the tall ones. Not the tall ones with heels, the tall, flat boots. Why does any of this matter? And it's almost noon—where is Edward? I called three times, and got his voicemail. It's like the universe doesn't want us to talk. But we're going to talk, and I'm going to be brave. I've been thinking about this all night. I turned off my phone and decided what I want to say. I'll be sweet. I'll be nice. I'll tell him I expect nothing, but I can't be his lover. No way. He'll understand. He won't blame me. If he does, he's a total douche. I don't want a douche.
I grab my laptop and place it in my bag. My phone rings, and I ignore it. I know it's that stupid girl with the curly hair. She's going to tell me I'm late again. I run down the stairs and my phone rings again. I swing open the door. Fuck. I should just answer.
"Hey, I'm almost there. I'm so—"
"Bella? Shit. Are you on your way out?"
"Huh?"
"God, you're beautiful."
Uch, this chapter. It took forever to get 'right' and we'll never know if I did. Anyway, thanks so much for reading, reviewing, recommending this to people. I know you guys have some strong opinions about the characters here and the choices they've been making. I'd love to know if anything has changed, and what you thought about what went on this time around.
I love you guys.
I love the girls on the gazebo.
I love my dear friend stella luna sky's newest story, Grand Jeté. It's beautiful, like her.
I love "Dream a Little Dream" by thelittlestingenue. It's the cutest thing you'll read, I promise.