Sleep
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Author's note: Twilight. Margaret Atwood. Kissing. Total English teachery smut. Happy Friday, all!
"For the entire weekend? Really?" Renee asked.
"I'm really behind," Edward said, looking appropriately embarrassed. "It's been busy." He smiled at Bella, and his face softened. So did Renee's heart.
This boy has it bad. "Your loss, Edward," she said lightly. "Alright, enjoy your term paper. Come on, Bella, let's go and enjoy some sun. Maybe some swimming, too?"
"Some sun sounds great. I'll hold off on the water though," she said.
"Really?" Renee said, her head snapped back in surprise, "You love swimming, come on. No one will mind how much you look like an sunless mushroom."
"No," Bella said, blushing, "it's not that."
Catching her drift, Renee rolled her eyes. "I'm sure Edward won't melt if you tell him you have your period, Bella."
Bella made another, most convincing blush, looking away. "Thanks mom. So glad you offer the humiliation Dad can't handle."
"Oh, you're welcome darling," she said arily. "Come on, let's go roast on the beach. I'll do the swimming for you then."
Edward decided that he liked Renee. Watching them walk—and Bella trip—down the house's front path, he reluctantly pulled out one of the books Alice had handed him before they left.
"Margaret Atwood?" He asked, a skeptical eyebrow raised.
"Don't be such a literary prude, Edward," she answered him. "She's a seminal Canadian artist. And if you're thinking of going north, eventually, with Bella, you should read some of her work."
"Poetry, Alice?" he asked, wondering if she expected them to recite it to the Caribou before they ate them.
"Yes," she sighed, "I don't just dabble in fashion, you know." Dusting a bit of lint off his shirt, she'd added, "besides, I know you're going to love 'Variation on the Word Sleep.'"
He'd taken it with a good natured sigh, and she'd called out, "you're welcome!", dancing away.
He flipped open the book, and as Alice had seen, the pages tapered neatly to the poem's words.
He smiled, reading it.
How apt.
Alice, he thought. It was the sound of a mixed benediction.
He'd dutifully played his part that evening, tucking himself into the covers on the couch, waiting until the regularity of Renee's breathing told him it was safe to steal upstairs.
"Somehow," Bella said, watching him slide into the room, "this feels much more scandalous than at home."
"It feels scandalous?" he asked.
She grinned, "very."
"Oh," he said, pretending to look shocked, "should I leave then?"
"Don't you dare!" She said, moving to stand up.
Watching her wobble, he reached her before she could trip, topple, or fall.
He'd been careful with her. He was always careful with her, but now it was different. His touch was more uncertain, unsure of what it might release. He hated to see her struggle with the flashbacks—watch her choke on the memory. They were getting better, steadily, but any sudden stillness in her filled him with dread.
"I'm OK," she said, watching his face.
"Do I looked worried?" he asked.
"Yes, you do, actually," she smiled.
"Really?" He asked, surprised. He'd had years of schooling his face to wear the mask he needed.
"Mm-hmm," she said, running a finger from his clavicle to sternum. She tapped it there, authoritatively.
She was swaying, ever so slightly, sleep making its claims known.
"You're tired," he smiled.
"Mmm," she said, letting her body lean in closer to his.
He swept an arm under her, and laid her neatly back into the bed.
"Show-off," she murmured, but smiled at him still.
"If you say so," he said, laying on the edge of the bed, reaching to brush a strand of her hair off her face.
"Stop." Her hand had reached his before he could tuck it behind her ear. "No," she whispered.
She closed her eyes, and he dropped his hands away, wondering if it was just now, or if this gesture, too, was forbidden. Like so many others.
"Sorry," she said, opening her eyes, looking at him.
He shook his head. "Don't be, you've nothing to apologise for." He wanted to touch her, to reassure her, but didn't know how, and didn't want to burden her with his own wants.
Her eyelids were drooping, and he could see her fighting to stay awake. She brought her hand to his, curling over to face him in the bed. Their bodies curved together making the angular shape of a heart.
"Sleep," he said gently, letting his fingers brush tentatively over hers.
She grunted in reply. "Easy enough for you to say, oh sleepless vampire."
He smiled, "I would if I could, but watching you sleep will have to do." It recalled to him what he'd read, earlier, and he recited the lines for her,
"I would like to sleep
with you, to enter
your sleep as its smooth dark wave
slides over my head."
"What is that?" she mumbled, intrigued.
"A poem," he said, "from a book that Alice gave me to read."
Bella perked up a bit at this. Alice always had good literary selections. "Who by?"
Edward was running his finger lightly up and down her forearm, watching the gooseflesh rise, pleased that the shiver was one of pleasure. "Margaret Atwood," he whispered, daring to kiss her behind her ear. This too, brought her a flutter of pleasure.
"Tell me more," she breathed, distracted by the pleasant collusion of his lips and words.
"I would walk with you through that lucent
wavering forest of bluegreen leaves
with its watery sun & three moons
towards the cave where you must descend,"
He paused, taking a breath, and kissed her shoulder, "towards your worst fear."
Bella could well imagine what that was. She shivered, this time not with pleasure, and he paused, but she whispered, "go on."
"I would like to give you the silver
branch, the small white flower, the one
word that would protect you
from the grief at the center
of your dream, from the grief
at the center."
Bella was becoming still, feeling the blossoming of this very real grief. Edward had laid back slowly, his face contorted in worry, watching her tears spring. She nodded, silently, encouraging him.
"I would...become
the boat that would row you back
carefully, a flame
in two cupped hands
to where your body lies
beside me."
Hadn't he? She thought. Hadn't they? Come back? Together?
Sometimes, she wondered.
"I would like to be the air
that inhabits you for a moment
only. I would like to be that unnoticed
& that necessary."
She wanted to ask if that was all, if there wasn't more. But it was enough. He was her air, that necessary, but certainly not unnoticed. She reached out to him with her hands, drawing his own breath close to hers, their kiss making it one.