Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns these characters. I don't.
Author's Note: Controversial, controversial...
People keep telling me first love is different. One once described it as flinging yourself into oncoming traffic and hoping you don't get hit. But you always do and that's why the pain hurts so much, because there was a tiny part of you that thought the cars might avoid you.
He watches me as I take my skirt and panties out of the dryer.
He watches me as I stuff them into my bag and shove it up my shoulder.
And he continues to watch me as I walk out of the laundry room.
"You're wrong."
"About what?"
"Everything."
I stare at him with the most insincere look I can muster but it's not because I feel disgusted by his confident statement but because I am horridly convinced that there is a chance I am wrong.
"Oh yeah?" My arms cross over my chest.
"I wasn't embarrassed by you." His voice is unchanging; he drops his messenger bag to the ground and mimics my position.
"Frankly, I didn't give a damn about who you were. What grades you got, who you hung out with, what type of person you were trying to convince me you were. I didn't care."
The washer reads 9 minutes.
"You were amusing to me. You were funny in a sense that I didn't need to think too hard when I was around you. But when we fucked, I realized I may have over stepped the boundaries and didn't want you to get attached but you did anyway."
Water begins to build behind my eyes; the pressure of waves. And I don't even realize it's happening until another silence hits the air and his words are left hung in the air over our heads.
He doesn't care.
"So I backed off. Victoria was a nice distraction for you because you became so obsessed with her, but really I had no interest in Victoria either. Soon, you just became that mousey girl in the corner again. But then that day at the coffee shop and you racked up my bill... you surprised me. Caught me off guard. Obviously, I was angry but yeah, I guess I deserved it so I thought it was over. Between us. But then you showed up to the Christmas ball in that black dress and suddenly, I was really jealous. Of Emmett... no one is ever jealous of Emmett, but I was. But I was only jealous for that one night."
He's concentrating on my face so hard; it unnerves me.
"After break you came to my room that night and you said I was the wrong one," he laughs at this, "You said I was the one who wanted you. And you were wrong. Again. I didn't."
One lone tear trickles down my cheek.
"And again, I thought I was over it. Convinced myself I was over it, but then I saw you with your friends, saw you in class; you're so unaware of how meticulous you are about things, how plainly simple you make things. And when I found you crying over that cat... well... I wasn't not going to help. God, but you're always fighting back at me. Slapping, yelling, biting back at me and I just realized that I've really messed with your head and it's just your natural instinct to fight back."
It's the first time he looks away.
Washer reads 3 minutes.
"You were nice to me at my dad's funeral, and I was a jackass but you were nice. So I guess after all, I'm really sorry. Sorry for fucking with your head. You were kind of innocent before and I know I destroyed part of that. So... sorry."
I don't respond.
"I'm just fucked up. I always have been, always will. And you shouldn't have chosen me, because I warned you. Back when we first met, I said not to get too close but you did anyway."
Silence drifts and I know he doesn't have more to say. It's over.
Dried tears embed themselves onto my lips and I taste salt. It's stringent and uninviting and I feel like I've swallowed an organ.
"I don't believe it," I finally say.
"Don't believe what?"
"I don't believe any of it."
"What? That I don't love you? Sorry, I really don't know what else to say to convince you but I don't."
"No," I shake my head, more tears falling, "I don't believe that none of it was real."
His lips, which were in a tight line, have now loosened and he pouts them only slightly in response to my denial. His sigh is one of submission, not surrender. He wasn't letting me win; he was just tired of the battle.
So I pull myself together, bring my shoulders back, and wipe my hands clean of it.
"You are so full of shit. You are so afraid someone is actually going to care about you so you screw them over just so they don't."
Edward's green eyes turn black.
"And after high school, you're really going to be alone."
We stare back at each until the ringer goes off on the washer.
Time is up. The conversation is over. Time to go home.
He watches me as I take my skirt and panties out of the dryer.
He watches me as I stuff them into my bag and shove it up my shoulder.
And he continues to watch me as I walk out of the laundry room.
It's like I'm in the middle of an intersection now.
The metaphorical cars have stopped hitting me.
They're not even moving now.
Before any of you yell at me, explanations are always in the future chapters, so just remember that.
But WOW. I can't believe all the reviews I have gotten over the past couple of days! Thank you so much! You guys are truly amazing and what keep the story going :) Thanks again for keeping up with it and having so much patience for it.
Again, I should be updating every 10 days or so and will try to keep that consistent throughout the weeks.
Another note: I have another one shot I wrote for a class and am thinking about posting it here, so keep an eye out for that :)
Until next time... kisses & hugs.