38. DOODLE

As the weeks go on, time becomes supple. Waxing and waning, pulling and pushing. An hour apart can seem infinite. A day together like a half-breath. He lies watching her sleep, her knees curled up to her chest, and realizes there's so much he doesn't know about her.

So much he needs to know.

It's an unequal exchange, though. He only reveals what he can bear for her to hear. Stories of his youth. Practical jokes played on his twin. Alice's uneven revenge. He tells Bella the ones which make her laugh, watching her skin wrinkle up, her lips part. Each chuckle's a victory. Each giggle fit a prize.

But in sleep she's troubled. It troubles him, too. He wants to rub her frowns away, to swallow her cries with his lips. To follow her into those dreams and save her.

It's nearly five in the morning when she stirs. She crosses the threshold between sleep and wakefulness like a blushing bride, eyes slowly opening, a shy smile curling her lips when she sees him.

Watching, always watching.

"Tell me about your mother."

There's a pause as Bella blinks her way into full consciousness. Lines criss-cross her brow. Her eyes stare glassily, seeing things not present in the room.

"She was beautiful...is beautiful. That's the first thing you notice about her. When she used to play with me as a child—on those rare occasions—she was always the princess."

"What were you?"

"The frog, the cat, the prince. Whatever the story needed, that's what I was." Bella smiles wryly. "It never occurred to me I should be the princess."

He doesn't speak, doesn't tell her how beautiful he thinks she is. This is her story, he isn't going to steal it from her.

"When I was six she married this guy, someone she met in the bar where she worked. The first time I saw him, she told me to call him dad. He didn't even know my name."

Edward pulls her to his side, wraps his arm around her. Unsure which of them needs the comfort more. His fingers doodle subconscious patterns into her skin.

"The first time he hit her, I was sitting at the table with them. He asked her for a beer, she told him to get it himself. She didn't even see his fist coming. When she threw him out that night, she told him they were over. It took him three days to wheedle his way back in. By the Friday, they were engaged. A few weeks later, they were married."

The first time he hit her. Edward tries to imagine a world where it's okay for a man to hit a woman.

"Are they still together?"

"He died of lung cancer when I was ten. I was glad."

"Did he...did he ever hurt you?"

"No." The raw tone of her voice tells him more than the word ever could. Edward knows that pain isn't only caused by five knuckles against a cheek. The worst bruises are the ones which can't be seen.

They're both covered with them.