Hey everyone!
Sorry about the extra time it took me to update, but life got in the way – and this chapter was honestly hard to write. Only five more to go!
Oh, and I also apologize for not having answered some of the reviews, but my pc had to be fixed, and my time online was, therefore, limited.
Enjoy!
Soundtrack: Coldplay – Don't Panic / Coldplay - Trouble
I breathed the soft, gentle air, no longer an aggressive current, but a gentle whisper around me.
The weather had quieted some, and the change was nice.
As my boots clacked, almost silently, against the floor, my unoccupied mind inevitably steered towards Edward.
As the days passed, and I made an attempt at burying myself in books and work, I failed miserably in detaching myself from him.
The anger I felt had boiled down to pungent resentment, still very much present – and the hurt, too. As Jasper had put it, the scars were there.
I had never before considered just how big of a role he'd played in my life. During the time we spent together, he became my main focus of attention, my shelter, my lover, and everything I needed all rolled into one.
As they say, when it sounds too good to be true, it probably is.
I always knew I wasn't the easiest person to love, nor was I ever perfect. But, most of all, I'd believed that he loved me passionately, unconditionally, and that alone was intoxicating.
The aftermath was longer a process than I'd imagined, and I hadn't witnessed any healing just yet. Just like a druggie going through a very slow, very torturous withdrawal.
I'd find myself stuck in a moment, staring out a window or through an object, just because a memory took hold of me. It didn't help that these were the best moments of my day, the simple remembrance of what used to be.
I had to keep telling myself all of it had been a lie, but a part of me didn't really believe it.
I kept telling myself I had to let go, move on, and stop stealing myself from the present, living in daydreams.
And, of course, I told myself I had to stop loving him, but I still did.
Of course, this had no consequence other than hurting me further, but I was a bit tired of struggling, by then. I'd let time take its course, and pray that it would actually make a difference – a plan I wasn't very confident on, to say the least.
Alice's disapproving glare met me at every corner, but I'd learned to ignore it by now. She was more than vocal about her opinions – something along the lines of me throwing my one chance of happiness out the window by doing nothing.
Talking to her would have been just as effective as having an intricate discussion with a wall; she just didn't get it.
Rosalie's intervention in my favor had spared me some headaches since (she was never a big fan of Edward's), and the finals were taking up a lot of our time, so I hoped Al would drop it soon.
And I wasn't intending on doing nothing.
It was the third week of January, and I was walking towards my Anatomy I final; coincidently, the first on the calendar. I'd discussed what to do with Jasper many times, as he was the one person I'd actually chosen to spend any time with, and his answers had been cautious, never tainted by bias tendencies.
They hadn't been straight, either.
My mind had been set from the start, I suppose; I couldn't picture it any other way.
It was barely seven thirty in the morning, and the bright orange sunlight was bathing the tall windows as I made my way in. The building itself was still in complete silence, as the test was an hour away.
As I slowed my pace, I readied myself as best as I could and hoped my assumptions were correct. I contoured the wall and stepped in, holding a breath.
I was right. I did know something about Edward, after all. I knew he'd come early, trying to catch Gaspard before the final had even started.
The scene before me was eerily familiar: Edward was the only one in the room, sitting in the front row, with his legs stretched out. The sunlight seeped in, marking his profile.
It was the first day of class all over again, as if nothing had happened in between.
Only it had.
We were no longer an item, and the whispers circulating around campus were a testament to that. I had to endure being a subject of gossip – of petty people trying to make sense of what they knew nothing of. Some of it sickened me; some of it was just plain ridiculous.
But it took seeing a strawberry blonde beauty approaching Edward to turn my stomach and make bile rise to my throat.
What had I been, in the expanse of his life?
That question had bothered me at night, as I tried readjusting to the old mattress, in a room that didn't feel like my own.
Probably sensing my stare, Edward turned his head in my direction and I darted my eyes away just as quickly.
Deciding to stick to tradition, I went to sit in the same chair I'd sat in that faithful day, but didn't greet him in any way.
We were past courteous, at that point.
"Alice told me you're giving up the job. That you're telling Gaspard it was my work you turned in."
My voice sounded hollow and detached. There was so much to tell him, and so little.
So much I wanted to ask, but didn't want to know the answer to.
"It's true," he confirmed, his voice cavernous.
That was almost laughable coming from him in these circumstances, but I believed it.
"Don't," I blurted out. I had a whole speech prepared, but saw no sense to it. He would have been able to see right through me; I was never able to lie properly. "I mean… If you want to quit, than do," I backtracked, seeing as he might misinterpret my request. "But don't say anything about me being involved."
"Why?"
The question was so charged, borderline accusatory, that I was compelled to look his way.
In his eyes.
They were searching mine for something – as he'd done before.
Was he hoping to see forgiveness? Or maybe weakness, sufficient to take him back?
"Because this was on you, Edward," I answered, and my voice cracked under the emotion that I didn't want to display, as I uttered his name. "And, even if my fault in some ways, I don't deserve to feel guilty for this. I won't have your future weighing on my conscience. Plagiarism isn't tolerated at all; you'd be expelled from Dartmouth, and I very much doubt you'd get in any respectable college afterwards."
How pathetic was I?
At least, I was at peace.
Whatever he decided to do, I was no longer responsible for it – for I had been able (even if barely) to rise above the pain he inflicted and actually worry about his future.
"Bella… it wasn't your fault."
His voice floated to me after I'd resumed staring at the white projection screen in the wall in front of us, my name rolling off his tongue like a small prayer. It both sickened me and tugged at my heart.
And I just had to ask.
"Whose was it, then? Why did you do it?"
Silence dragged on after that, and I almost thought he'd chosen not to answer. In fact, the room was so silent I couldn't even hear him breathing, and wondered if he was still there at all. But his answer came:
"It's my fault and my fault alone. That's all that matters."
An intense sense of defeat seeped into me, chilling me to my bones, and I fought back tears. I should have been angry, as I'd demanded an explanation that he didn't deliver. But I was only mournful, as he seemed to have given up entirely.
He wasn't even going to try and justify himself; probably for the same reason he had made no efforts to contact me, those past weeks.
Truth is, I wouldn't have talked to him – just as I wouldn't have accepted his justifications.
That didn't counter the fact that it hurt to know he wasn't even trying.
Having quelled the pesky, Alice-like voice of my conscience, I got up from my chair, unable to stay there another minute, chocking on everything left unsaid, and went to get a cup of tea to kill some time.
As I got back, the room was starting to fill, and I sought seating as far away from him as possible, a murmur informing anyone who cared to listen that the pet pupil had quit.
My name wasn't mentioned.
I was left wondering if Edward had granted my request – or if I'd just supplied his way out of trouble.
That day, he sat a few chairs away, not close enough to really bother me, not far enough for me to forget he was there.
Sometimes his gaze would fall upon me – something I knew instead of seeing – and the prickling sensation would irk and please me at the same time, which was, most of all, confusing.
As soon as I was done, I turned it in, not even bothering to look my answers over. I was just glad I was through with the subject from hell.
Feeling much lighter, now that the conversation I'd been dreading for weeks was over with, I hurried towards my locker to get my gym bag.
My best friend blocked the way, carrying it in her arms. I was puzzled for a second, as I didn't remember giving her the combination.
"All done with your final already?" she smiled, and I got instinctually suspicious. What was she so happy about?
"Yes… Just got out. "
"Go have fun, then," she replied, enthusiastically, shoving the black bag into my hands.
I quirked an eyebrow.
"What is it?"
"You told him to stay," she simply stated, as if that was the answer to anything.
News traveled fast on campus.
"No, Al, I didn't," I countered, my voice dead-serious. "I told him not to get himself expelled, but that was it. Don't read anything else into it."
"You might not have seen it, Bella, but I did. The change in you once he was around," she countered, her voice sweetening. "You deserve that happiness. So, thank you for giving Edward the chance to stay and fight for you."
I didn't have the heart to tell her he'd already quit.
"Whatever he might have given me, he took it back," was my reply, before giving her a one-arm hug and whispering good luck for her first final.
Three hours later, my mind was the furthest away possible from the mess my life was in.
My muscles spasmed, and a new coat of sweat trickled down my back as I gasped out my breaths, the rhythmic motions of my body coming to an all time high, just before I let go.
When I did stop, sweet, blissful relief engulfed me, and I could feel my body lock in place, rendering me immobile for a couple of seconds.
"Come on, Bella!" Emmett urged, but I waved my hand, a gesture clearly meant to say I was done for the day.
Sitting on the rubbery floor, I rubbed my sore shoulders and breathed in deeply, enjoying the relief.
"I've got to admit," I croaked out, "that was lots of fun."
The big man gave me a goofy smile back, pride dancing in his eyes as he cast a loving glance to the gym he'd built.
"Told 'ya."
Jasper came to sit by my side, and even though he'd been working out just as hard for just as long as me, he didn't seem ruffled at all.
Damn Army training.
"Kicking something really does help with anger management," he whispered, something I alone was meant to hear, and earned himself a smirk in response.
Kickboxing would have never been my idea – as I didn't enjoy violent sports.
Or so I thought.
"Were you picturing someone in particular as you punched the hell out of those pads, Bella?" Emmett joked, and I actually snickered.
"Not really. I even let him stay in Dartmouth and everything," I countered, the comment slipping before I knew it.
Jasper gave my shoulder a squeeze, but Emmett just looked confused.
"I thought you were bulking up to go kick him in the nuts."
Sensitivity was never his main trait.
"If violence was the answer, I would have beaten her to it," Jasper snorted, and my mind went back to that Saturday morning hangover.
"And what would you have done? Keyed his car?"
Emmett's barb didn't go unnoticed, and Jasper got up swiftly, elbowing him in the ribs.
I sighed. Testosterone.
In between kickboxing practice and studying for my finals, there was barely enough time to sleep – but I managed to help around the department as much as I could for the following weeks.
And there was finally space to breathe.
As most counted down the days until total freedom, I was counting those until the beginning of the following semester.
Internship.
More working hours meant less time to live inside my own head, and I was honestly looking forward to the next stage of my education. Things were, for the first time since the end of December, looking up.
I should have known it wouldn't last.
The week after the finals were over, my phone disrupted me as I read, and I glanced to the screen to check out the caller I.D.
I stared at it for five seconds, confused and taken by surprise, as the familiar number was the last one I expected.
Perhaps in a rare moment of clairvoyance, my hand stopped mid-air, involuntarily, as it stretched to pick it up. Ignoring it, of course, I picked it up.
"Hello?"