Thank you Writeontime for looking at this even though you should be lying on a beach, getting a tan.
Thank you Ciaobella27 for reading my stuff and collaborating with me on the best story of all time. Omg. BotS!
I don't own Twilight.
"Edward? What? I can't talk to you right now. I'm running late."
"Bella, I—"
"I'll call you later."
I hang up. This is the last thing I need right now. It's raining. I'm late. Shit. Shit. Shit. I forgot the copies of the paper I need for the meeting upstairs. It took me forever to get them bound yesterday, and I can't show up without them. Annoyed, I throw my phone into my bag and let the door swing shut behind me. I'm sweaty and out of breath, running back up the staircase to my apartment. Luckily, my keys are still in my hand, and I'm in. I have the folder with all the copies inside, I stick it in my bag, and I'm on my way out again. Except my tights get caught on the edge of my coffee table, and my doorbell rings, and I'm kicking off my boots, shouting to let the person know I'm coming, pulling off my ruined tights, and trying not to fall flat on my face, all at once.
"Just come in!" I shout, realizing that I never completely shut the door behind me, and I don't have to walk down the hallway to open it. I also realize that this is how people get murdered—by letting strangers into their apartments.
"Shit! Don't come in! Or come in if I know you. Ugh. I'll be right there!"
I pick up my bag again, praying that my laptop isn't dead after being slammed around everywhere, and walk barefoot down the hallway, staring at the bruises on my legs I got at the airport. I always end up hurting myself by bumping into things at airports. Fuck. I'm going to freeze, and I can't wear my rain boots without socks. Whatever. It's a short meeting. I'll hand over everything I have and come back. I'll run. It's not the end of the world.
Whoever rang the doorbell hasn't bothered to let themselves in. I open the door, cautiously, and this must be one of those really, really vivid dreams where nothing goes right, but then everything goes right. And I'm going to wake up any second now. Any second.
"Holy shit. What are you doing here?"
"Are you okay?" he asks me. He asks me. He's here. He's asking me a question.
"I'm… dude, you're, like, here."
He laughs, and drops his bags. Bags. Multiple. Okay, just two bigger ones and a messenger bag.
"Yeah. Bella, come here."
I hold on tightly to my bag. He looks at me like I'm crazy. I realize he wants me to walk over to him. He's still standing right outside my door. I should fling myself at him. I should jump and let him catch me. I want a movie kiss. I want zippers down, skirts up, slamming, crazy, hallway sex. Then I want to move inside. And he needs to still be inside me. And there's the couch, and the bed, and right now what happened to my tights seems so convenient. Like God wanted that to happen. Made it happen. I want to tell Edward this. I'm losing my mind. I stare at him. I take three steps. His arms open. I'm in them. He hugs and hugs and hugs. I can't breathe. I push him away.
"You were on your way out," he says. "If you want, I can go to Ros—"
"Yeah, I have to meet some people for a project. You're um, welcome to stay, or I don't know…"
"Do you need a ride? I… I rented a car."
"What? You don't drive," I remind him.
"I do drive. I just never renewed my license. I took care of that a few weeks ago."
He reaches back and removes his wallet from his pocket. I take the license he hands me. He's smiling in the picture, like a little boy. I find this funny. It makes me giggle. His hand is on mine. We stare at our hands together. I think I gasp. My hand is small and white, and his nails are nicer than mine. I love the hair on the back of his hand. I want to touch it. He's so beautiful. I study his fingers. I study the picture. His scar was more prominent. It's healed so fast, it's healed so perfectly. It's the scar I know. It's finally the scar I know.
"Oh. You didn't say anything…" I place the license back in his hand and wrap my arms around my waist.
"I thought maybe I could take you somewhere, when you were in New York, but you wanted to do stuff in the city."
"You got your license to drive me around?"
"No… I just thought, if I ever leave New York, I'll need a car," he explains. "And then since I had it…"
"Cool. Awesome. Congratulations." You should have told me. That fact that you didn't makes me wonder if it had something to do with Chelsea.
"Bella, are you okay?"
I look up into his eyes. It makes me wince. I have to look away. I'm not ready to look into his eyes. Ten minutes ago, I was thinking about how I'm going to tell him that this is over. And he's here now. He's here, and I'm not sure why. Is he here because of what happened over the phone the other night? I refuse to believe that he's here for sex. But if I had the money, and if I had the means to fly out to New York, wouldn't I do it? Yes. No. I don't know. Probably. Maybe. Of course. I have to tell him. But I have to take care of this first. But… but… he's here. And he smells so good. And he looks so good. And I know that if I let him, everything will be good. Just let him, Bella. Ask him for a ride, hand over the stuff, get back in the car, turn around, touch, touch, touch, and ask him to bring you back and fuck you and then when you're done, tie him up and never let him leave again.
"I'm fine. And um, yeah, could you drop me off? It'll only take a second."
"Of course, anything."
"Yeah. You can leave your bags inside…"
"Thanks."
"Does Rosalie know you're here?" I ask.
"No."
"Oh."
"Shit. Do you want me to put my bags back in… Do you have plans? I can stay with Rose. I just thought…"
"No. No plans," I assure him. "It's just… we'll talk about it later. You can stay, of course."
"Talk about what later?"
"Things. I mean… there's stuff to talk about."
"Right."
And he's such a boy, because he has no idea what I mean. Is he that stupid? Could he possibly be that clueless? I tell him to leave the bags in the living room, by the couch, because if they end up in my room, so will he, and I don't know if I want that to happen. He's here in Seattle. With more than one bag. The scar is right. His face is his face. His hat is his hat. It's just like my dreams. Especially that one dream, in which he's always wearing that blue shirt, like the one he's wearing now under his jacket. But I hate that dream. I hate how sad I am in it. How sad he is. Of course we're sad. He'll have to go back. I can't do this if he has to go back. He can sleep on the couch. He will not sleep with me. I'm doing what I said I would do. I'm telling him this is over. I'm not sleeping with him, but God… I really, really want to sleep with him. Like if I do, I'll keep him here. Convince him to stay. Women do it all the time, right? Cast some sort of sex-spell and steal men away from other women. It happens, right?
"You look like you're about to throw up," he tells me.
"Yeah, I probably am."
My phone begins to ring again. "I really have to go. So if you want…"
"Of course. Let's go."
We get lost on our way, because he doesn't listen to me when I tell him to take the first left. He listens to the stupid voice from his GPS thing, which tells him to go straight for another mile.
"Edward, why are you listening to her? I told you… I mean, I live here."
"They're never wrong," he insists.
"Uh, yeah they are. What's it gonna take for you to listen to me? Do I have to tell you to take the next left in a robotic sex voice?"
And we miss the next turn because he's laughing.
"So useless. Why do I keep you around?" I tease.
"Good question. Better question: why am I even here? You should've seen your face when you hung up on me."
"Wait, what?"
"I was outside your building when I called. I was having a moment, staring up at you and trying to make it perfect, you know, the kind of thing you'll never forget, and you hung up on me and threw your phone into your bag."
"Dude, I was running late. I'm still running late."
"I know," he says, and his hand is on my knee. "I'm sorry I ruined your day."
And I fuck up, because when I move my hand over his to push it away, I forget what I'm supposed to be doing, and leave it there.
"You didn't ruin my day," I mumble. "Finally! Park there. Don't move. Move if the cops come. It'll only take a second."
It takes more than a second. It takes about twenty minutes for them to agree that everything looks good. I want to tell these girls that I don't give a fuck. This is college. It's not that serious. We're all going to pass. We'll all probably get As.
Edward is waiting for me in the shiny silver car he rented. I wonder if he remembers the car he drove when he lived in Forks. It was silver. It was a Volvo. It was shiny. It was where we had our first kiss, down the street from my house, while it was raining outside. My conversations with Edward over the past couple of months lead me to believe that he doesn't remember the details like I do. He remembers me. He remembers us. I think he remembers how he felt. At first it hurt me that the memories were not as vivid for him as they were for me, but now I see things a little differently. Despite his shitty memory and lack of dreams, there was something about what we had that made him want to know me again. I've spent six years dreaming about him, about us, about our future together. He had none of that, and yet… I don't know. I'd like to believe I was special. Maybe different. Something.
"Hey, sorry about that," I say, sliding into the passenger seat. "I hate school."
"Don't worry about it."
"Did anyone tell you to move?"
"No, it's all good. So, which way do I go?"
"Um, your girlfriend can tell you. Turn her on."
"No way." Edward laughs. "You promised you'd give me directions in a robotic sex voice."
"I don't want to give you any ideas."
"You don't have to do anything."
"Oh, so you've already got ideas?"
"Long flight," he says.
"Gross. Is that what you think about with people sitting really close to you on a plane?"
"It's what I think about all the time."
Oh boy. He's horny. He probably expects sex. I expect sex. I want it. I crave it. I need it. I think I should touch him now. I think I should move closer, and kiss his neck, and run my hand down his chest and stomach, and touch him until he tells me to stop, because we're in a car, and we're almost home, and I can touch him more there, and this is really, really bad, because I can't think of anything but how he's going to taste. He's going to taste so good. I used to love his smell, his sounds, his taste. I used to be addicted. I close my eyes just for a second and imagine licking him. Shit. I can't do this. We're going to get lost again.
"Dude, no. Right."
"Fuck it. I'm turning this on."
The stupid automated voice doesn't screw it up this time, and we're parking the car half a block from my apartment. Edward sucks at parallel parking. I tell him to let me try, but he's annoyed now, and he asks me to stop talking. Nice.
I notice how he hesitates before he climbs up the few steps in front of my building. I want to hold out my hand, let him know that I want him here, because I do, but… but it has to be on my terms. And I'm giving myself ten minutes. In the next ten minutes, I'm going to tell him that he can't stay here tonight and expect us to act like a couple. We're not a couple. I'm not sleeping with another woman's boyfriend.
Of course, it's entirely possible that he broke up with her. It's possible, but wouldn't he have told me something? I don't know, in a text, or maybe he could have called me, or told me to my face when he walked into my apartment an hour ago. If you have good news like that, if you flew across the country to tell someone you want to be with them, you just say it. You don't keep it inside. You say it, and you let that person know. If he had anything to tell me, he would have said it already. He's here… I don't know. Maybe he's here because he just wants to hook up. Maybe he really misses me and wants to spend some time with me. Maybe he realizes that he has to make a choice, but he has to see if I'm worth it. Well, fuck that. He makes that choice now. How dare he walk into my home and act like it's normal, like it's okay?
I guess I slam the door behind us once we're inside, and I'm pretty sure he can see my face as we take off our jackets, and he's not stupid. He's not. He knows my face. And maybe that's why my face is in his hands, and his lips are on my nose and cheeks and forehead. And his hands move down, and they move behind me, and he's holding me, rocking me, crushing me.
"I'm here. I'm here. I'm here," he says over and over again.
I nod, my head against his chest. I need to put my arms around him. God, he's bigger than he was. Maybe not taller, but why did I think he was that same skinny boy? I look up at him, and I feel so tiny, and I like this feeling, I like how he's holding me. I like how he's looking at me. He's never looked at me this way.
"I'm here," he repeats. "What's wrong?"
"Why?"
"Why?"
"Yeah. Why are you here?"
"Are you being serious right now?" he asks.
"So serious. I… what are you doing here, Edward?"
"I'm here to see you."
"Why?"
"Bella. You're freaking me out. Do you want me to go?"
"No," I whisper, "but I want to know what you're here for."
"You're here. I told you I'd…"
"You… when do you go back?"
His hands are no longer on me. He's no longer holding me.
"You want to know when I'm going back?" he asks.
"I don't know! Yeah…"
"Shit. This was such a mistake."
"What? Oh, awesome. Of course it was. Did you expect me to throw my arms around you and not ask any questions?"
"Of course not. But Bella, I just left my entire life in New York and came here, and if you've been… all these months, and especially this past week, was it a game? I thought…"
"You can't do this," I tell him. "I won't do this."
"Do what?"
"How long… does she know you're here?" I ask.
"No, she doesn't. Bella, that's over. I broke up with her."
"Are you serious?"
He rolls his eyes. "Would I lie to you about that?"
He runs his hands through his hair and leans against the wall, his eyes closed. I tug on his shirt and he looks down at me, and he doesn't look happy.
"You're tired. Let's sit."
I drag him to the living room, never letting go of his shirt. I'm a stupid, stupid girl who is still repeating his words in my head, over and over again. What am I supposed to say? Am I supposed to celebrate? Smile? Jump? Act sad, like someone died? Be polite and nod? I don't know what to do. I just want to comfort him. I also want to slap him, but first… God, I love this man, and I don't want him sad. And he looks so tired and sad. When he sits down on the couch, I crawl onto his lap. I wrap my arms around him and kiss his chest.
"Are you okay?" I ask.
"Yeah."
"No, really, like, are you—"
"Bella, I'm here. I'm okay."
I kiss his chest again, then his chin. "But, like, is she okay? I mean, I know she doesn't handle stressful situations well, and you said she can't sleep alone, I mean—"
"She'll be fine. She knew this was coming."
"But how—?"
"I really don't want to…" he starts. I make my eyes big. It works. "Fine. I told her back in October that I… I suggested that we consider not renewing the lease—our lease was up November 1st—but she said she'd take over, because it had been in both our names. She knew… she was stubborn, and said she wanted to stay in the apartment, it's convenient, or whatever. I told her I wasn't sure what I wanted. Every time she brought up moving here, I ignored her. I was a dick. I couldn't just leave. If you… if you hadn't been in the picture, maybe it would have been easier to leave, because I felt like such an asshole, and I didn't want things to end like that between us, I didn't want to have to tell her there was someone else. But honestly, maybe I wasn't ready to break up with her then, because I couldn't do it. And if I hadn't… without you, yeah… I would've never… So we stayed in the apartment, and things were fine. Bella, she's a great person, I love her, but you were always on my mind. It felt wrong, but I thought… shit, I didn't think, and then you came to visit, and I knew."
"This is so confusing."
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm sorry," he tells me, and I notice that he's hugging me back now. I look into his eyes and hold his face in my hands. He's so beautiful. I run my thumbs over his eyebrows and smile.
"Confuse me more."
He smiles back and starts to play with my hair.
"On my way back from dropping you off at the airport, I knew I had to do it. I tried talking to her that night, but she freaked out. We were spending the holiday with her family, and I shouldn't have brought it up, but I was… I really wanted to be here. But she really freaked out, and I thought yeah, this isn't going to happen quickly. We spoke on the phone that night, and I told you I loved you. I was so angry. Both of you were so… Anyway, her sister and her husband spent the weekend with us. I finally told her it's over Monday morning. It sucked, Bella. I really wanted to talk to you about it."
"Why didn't you? Why didn't you tell me?" I ask.
"What if you'd said 'no'? What if you'd told me not to leave her?"
"Why would I do that?"
"I don't know. You're… you don't… I didn't want to take that risk. And Demetri said I shouldn't put you in the middle of things, that I should only tell you once it's all over."
"Demetri? Who is he now? Dr. Phil? You're my best friend. You're supposed to tell me shit."
"He's my best friend too, and he was right."
"So why didn't you tell me after?" I ask him.
"Demetri—"
"Jesus Christ!"
"Shut up," he says. Rude, but I like it when he gets all snippy and annoyed with me. "Demetri said I should just show up. What if—"
"What if I'd told you not to come? Why the fuck would I do that?"
"Bella, I don't know. I didn't know what to tell you, so I thought I'd surprise you."
"I'm surprised," I whisper.
"Yeah?"
"Totally surprised."
"Are we cool?" he asks. What a stupid question. I roll my eyes at him and he laughs.
"I don't have to stay here. I know showing up here like I did was weird—"
"You just wanted to make sure I felt sorry enough for you to let you sleep on the couch. Did Demetri suggest that you show up with your bags?" I ask. "Also, just two bags?"
"The rest of my stuff's at Demetri's. I don't have a lot of clothes, and I left everything else at the apartment."
"A lot of stuff?".
"Yeah… Yeah. Books, stuff my mom bought for the kitchen. The television was mine—twenty-third birthday present. Brand new."
"You should—"
"Shit, Bella, I can't take apart the apartment."
"You don't want to go back? Like, you're not here just temporarily?"
"You're freaking me out again," he says. "I'm here. If you don't want me, just say it. I'll figure out what to do, but I'm here. And you're fucking sitting on my lap, and you're touching me like you want me. So tell me what you're thinking."
"You're here. And my TV is pretty awesome—look, my dad bought it for me when I moved out of Jane's. We can share."
"I promise, I'll get my own place soon. We'll look together."
I hold on so tight, I shake my head so hard, I kiss his neck and put my fingers in his nice, pretty hair.
"No, no, no. Let's not talk about you going anywhere. Stay until I'm sick of you?"
"Yeah." He laughs.
"I love you," I tell him. "I want to ask you other stuff, but I'd rather cuddle."
"Good, you talk too much."
"Asshole!"
"I'm hungry," he says. His eyes are so green. So wide. I love them, so I kiss them. Then I make him a sandwich, and eat most of it myself. And then I make him wash his hands before he comes into my bed. He's so tired, and he looks so tired, and he wants to nap. I make him take off his shirt because it smells like airplane. He asks if he can take off his pants, because they also smell like airplane, but mostly because it would be more comfortable to nap this way. He's in a thin white t-shirt and grey boxer briefs, which make me giggle, because they're so not him, but I guess they are him. I lie there and stare at him, and I think he's asleep, but he opens his eyes and speaks.
"I'm so in love with you."
"You're not here to nap."
"No," he admits. "Take off your dress."
He stares at me as I take it off. I'm kneeling on the bed beside him now, and I'm shaking. I'm excited. I'm scared. Nervous. It's been years. He left his life to be with me. What if it's not the same? What if it's not magic? What if we're lying here in ten minutes utterly disgusted and cold and empty? What if I love it? What if it's everything to me and nothing to him? What if he's looking at me right now and realizing that I'm not the girl he loved, that I'm an average-looking woman who looks better with her clothes on than off? But no. He's looking at me like I'm worth seeing. Worth staring at. And when his hand is on my stomach, reaching out to play with the little jeweled hoop hanging from my belly button, his smile is big. His mouth is warm. I fall back onto the bed and he's all over me. He's playing, and laughing, and loving, and I've never seen him like this. I feel so young, and I know I am young, but I feel young-young, like a kid, and I keep giggling as he bites, and licks, and kisses my belly, and shoulders, and neck.
It's chilly, so he holds me close, and his breath is warm, and his mouth is soft. He finally kisses my mouth. I almost tear his t-shirt, I'm grabbing onto it so tight. I'm shaking in his arms. I want to die here. Like this. Kissing him. I can't stop. Hundreds of kisses on my face, on his face. He's so sweet. So, so sweet. He's all love and smiles and really hot boy. Except he's not a boy. But he is. He's my boy. He's always been. And his fingers are quicker now. My bra comes off. I push my chest in his face, my nipple into his mouth. I swear I just said 'finally' out loud, but maybe I didn't, because he's not laughing at me, or teasing me. His hand is on my stomach, and I move it up. He looks up at me, kissing and sucking and breathing against my skin.
"Is she jealous?" he asks, and I nod. It's so delicious, the way he pinches, and touches, and stares. He stares, like he's never seen breasts before, like he's never had one in his hand before. He stares until I'm blushing, and his mouth is gone, his mouth is everywhere, all over my chest. Hundreds of kisses. His cheek rests against me. His eyes are closed. It tickles. I run my hand through his hair. If I close my eyes, we're kids again, and it's sweet, and I ache for every minute we weren't lying like this together. And when I open my eyes, he's here, and none of it matters.
"Is this real?" he asks, looking up at me.
"Yeah."
He kisses a nipple and his eyes close again.
"Are we going to...?" I blurt out.
"Yeah," he says. "Yeah."
And the kisses are back. And his teeth are on me. If I even had a brain, it's left me by now. Crumpled, gone, I'll never be able to use it again. I want to breathe, take real breaths, deep ones, but I can't... I can't. I'm a mess under him.
"Jesus, your heart." His mouth is over my skin over my heart, like he's kissing it to slow it down, to make it better, but it only makes it go crazier.
"I'm so nervous," I whisper.
"Why?"
I shrug. "Too many years... I don't know."
He laughs, and I want to hit him. "I came all the way from New York. You should let me have sex with you."
"Your jokes are lame."
"I've never been this serious about anything."
"Right now?" I ask. What is wrong with me? I want this more than I want anything... anything. But, I don't know—I feel like I'm going to throw up. I've never been this nervous. He's so stupid. Why did he have to say anything about my heart? He should have kept going. I'm easy. We would have been fucking by now. But we're not, and I just want him to hug me, and maybe kiss me, and I'm such a loser.
"Yes." He's on top of me, looking really serious, and he means it. This is going to happen right now. And I wait for him to take off his shirt, or unbutton his pants, or something, but instead he laughs.
"Jesus, Bella, I'm kidding. Come here."
"Wait, we're not having sex?" I ask. I'm suddenly calm again, and my legs fall open, because... that's what they're supposed to do under him.
He's lying on top of me, almost crushing me, and I hold him there with my thighs, my arms, all my strength. He bites my neck, then my earlobe, and then kisses, kisses, kisses me everywhere but on my mouth.
"We're definitely having sex," he tells me, rolling onto his back. "Just not now." I go with him, and his arms and so strong. Really strong for a pretty skinny guy. Except he's not so skinny anymore. Yeah he is. Skinny-strong.
"Ow."
"You asked me to hold you tight. Get used to it."
And we kiss. And kiss. It feels so good. And we kiss, and hug, and close our eyes a lot. Take seconds here and there to calm down, kiss again, move and touch and kiss and kiss.
My body in his hands… I can't begin to describe what it's like. It's like he loves it and wants it more than anything else. It's like he's so happy to have me this close to him right now. He touches me like I touch him… excited, eager, greedy, sometimes a little selfish, but then it's not selfish at all, because everything we do feels good. And the best, best part is that he won't stop kissing me, and I love that. I love that I finally want someone to kiss me for hours. I'm not doing it because it's what people do when they're hooking up, I'm doing it because I have to, and want to, and his mouth is the best. I remember kissing this boy, the thrill of it, the ache it made me feel deep inside, and on my skin, and everywhere. I remember the beginning. I remember how his tongue would make me want to cry because I was so, so happy. And it's like that now. And I'm nervous, because what if it's not like that for him? I want to ask him. I want to freak him out, and make him uncomfortable, and see if he'll disappear. And I will—just not now. Now I'll just do this. And now he's doing things to our clothes. And now we're both so naked.
"Fuck me," I tell him.
"Yeah?"
He's in my hand, and he's so warm and soft and hard and good. I show him how badly I want him right now. Over and over, it feels so good. He looks down and he loves it. He's such a boy, and such a perv, and I look too, and it's so incredibly hot, watching him slide over me. God he's beautiful. And I can't see anymore, because he's kissing me, and we're done playing, and yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, I love this. Finally. Everything is… it just is. It's everything that wasn't for years and years without him. It's new, and old, and good, and better, and I'm a part of something. I've never been a part of something. And this boy, this man, he's talking to me. He likes it when I scratch him. He loves me. He says I feel so good. He loves me so much. He says filthy words he never said when we were kids. I love them. I love him. He's soft and rough and I'm so, so loud.
His face against mine. The stubble. His body. I can't. I can't think anymore. The way he's moving. How he's kissing me. The thrill. The thrill. Oh my God.
"I love you," I manage to say. And I do. I don't just love the orgasm he gave me. I love that too, but God, do I love him. I'm shaking. My heart is beating so fast. I'm shaking. I'm laughing. I'm kissing him. I'm so fucking giddy that it's embarrassing. I've lost my mind. And it's awesome. He kisses my neck and won't get off me, but I don't care. He can continue to crush me. He made my day, my week, my year, my life.
"Fuck," he breathes.
I giggle. "Right?"
"Marry me."
You guys are so awesome—in reviews, on Twitter, when I bug you on Gchat… everywhere. Thank you so much for reading this.
I wanted to mention a few awesome stories I love.
I'm reading "We Come to Life Beneath the Stars" by Lillybellis and "My Manic and I" by the. littlest. ingenue. Both stories are amazing WIPs. And if you're looking for something wonderful that's also complete, I thought "That Pain to Miss" by HelenahJay was so, so, so good.
Anyway, yeah, I got a little carried away here. I think Edward did, too. Don't freak out or anything. Writing this chapter drove me a little crazy, so I'd love to hear what you guys thought. Are you still mad at him? Madder? What words do you think the next chapter is going to start with? Oh God. I can't wait to see your suggestions.
I'll be back next week.
xo