A/N: Disclaimer - Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. This week, I have tried to manage without the excellent help of my beta, so I apologize for any and all mistakes!
Chapter 52.
December
No walls can keep me protected
No sleep, nothing in between me and the rain
And you can't save me now
I'm in the grip of a hurricane
I'm gonna blow myself away
I 'm going out, I'm gonna drink myself to death
And in the crowd I see you with someone else
I brace myself 'cause I know it's going to hurt
But I like to think at least things can't get any worse
No home I don't want shelter
No calm, nothing to keep me from the storm
And you can't hold me down
Cause I belong to the hurricane
It's gonna blow this all away
I'm going out..
I hope that you see me 'cause I'm staring at you
But when you look over, you look right through
Then you lean and kiss her on the head
And I never felt so alive and so dead
I'm going out, I'm gonna drink myself to death..
Florence and the Machine: Hurricane Drunk
BPOV
I pull my bag out of the locker at the gym, feeling sweaty and gross. I don't like public showers, but it's worse riding the Tube in my sweaty training clothes, feeling my humid skin cool uncomfortably until I start to shiver. There are scales here at the gym and when no one's around to see me naked, I quickly check my weight. I thought about getting some scales for our bathroom, but I'm afraid Siobhan will ask me why I feel it's necessary to have them, or that she will take offense. I think she's beautiful and I'm constantly amazed at how comfortable she seems to be in her body, in spite of being anything but the ideal of feminine beauty currently in swing. She keeps picking up interesting guys too, in spite of being close to forty and big, living proof that all guys aren't buying into the Kate Moss hype.
I sigh. Okay, still at 145 pounds. I guess that's to be expected. I cheat too much these days, eating a piece of bread here and there, tasting Siobhan's dinners, and going out drinking with her friends. For a long time I never touched alcohol, but now that I've started again it's kind of addictive. I like rolling a good wine around my tongue, the tanginess of an oaked Chardonnay, the crispness of a Chablis, the satisfying berry taste of a Cabernet Sauvignon or the fire of a good Syrah. And I like how, after a couple of glasses of wine, everything begins to feel a little fuzzy around the edges and not so important anymore. I frown. Maybe I have to watch it if I start enjoying it too much. I could easily develop an addiction. That's why I've always been careful about medication and never wanted to try drugs. Food used to be my drug, but now it's more like poison.
I wrap my big, pink towel around myself and head for the shower. To my relief it's empty, so I won't have to avert my eyes from any sleek, shaved bodies or determinedly ignore eyes boring into my back, judging me. Live with it, I'd like to say. It will happen to you too, sometime. Only, maybe it won't. People are different. Some are genetically gifted, some are not. Some things don't change.
When I've finished in the shower I hurry up and get dressed before the locker room fills up with giggling women from the latest yoga class. I blow dry my hair just enough so that the cold air outside won't chill me and make me catch cold, cast a quick, disapproving look at myself in the mirror, noting that my face is pink and flushed and my nose is shiny. Some powder will have to do the trick, I don't have the time or inclination to do an elaborate make-up here.
As I step out into the street I tilt my head back to look up at the black sky, where the thick clouds reflect the eerie pink-orange light from the city that is revving up for another Friday night. I had a text from Jacob waiting for me when I left the library earlier, "U coming out tonite? Meet us at the Dragon at 8:30?" I answered "Maybe. Call you later!" since I wasn't sure if I would feel up to it after gym.
Now, I'm torn. I'm kind of depressed at the fact that I've stopped losing weight but I'm feeling both tired and energized by the workout. My stomach is growling at me, and I know that low blood sugar is probably one part of the reason why I'm feeling down, but I'm unwilling to do anything about it. Then I think about how Jacob almost always makes me feel better. I smile to myself. Okay, I'll go to the pub with the gang tonight, but I'll keep it clean, go easy on the carbs and try to feel good about myself.
When I cross the street to the tube station, I suddenly see the back of a young man walking away from me, dragging a hand through tousled brown hair, a long, easy gait and broad shoulders on a tall, lean body and I feel a jolt go through my stomach as my heart clenches. I stop on the side walk, mesmerized, with my training bag dragging my arm towards the ground as my grip slackens. Edward, my mind whispers, then screams. Not Edward! I tense all my tired muscles and jerk myself to life again, heading determinedly towards the gates with my eyes unseeingly fixed in front of me.
I swipe my card, jostle through the crowd hugging my bag to me on the way down to the platform, while I try to slow my accelerated heart beat with long, deep breaths. This happens once in a while, and it's painful and exhilarating at the same time. I see someone that reminds me of him, a gesture, a look, a build, and I'm suddenly kick-started by the same kind of electricity that used to ignite me at his touch. Only now it's the memory alone that drives me. My poor body vibrates as the sensory memories overload me. Edward's strong hands and long fingers, winding through my hair, circling my hips, Edwards intense green eyes, the softness of his lips, skating across my brow, nipping along my jaw, ear lobes and neck, sucking on my hardening nipples, greedily kissing his way down my body to the apex of my thighs, where he would settle with a groan of pleasure.
I flush, remembering how much he loved going down on me. He used to kid me about it, saying that if I knew what was best for me I would lock him up in a closet and feed him caviar and champagne, to make sure no other woman ever found out I had 24/7 access to a man who loved giving oral. I tingle all over just thinking about him, tingle with lust and shame and longing. I wish I could drop everything and just run, run until my whole body and head is pounding with the beat of my heart trying to thrash its way out of my chest, my breath crashing through my throat, beating every memory, every thought out of me. Instead, I stand rigid, wedged between strangers, clutching onto a slick metal rail, my knuckles white with the effort to hold myself still, to not panic again. I haven't had a panic attack since summer.
I burst out of the train car at my station, almost stumbling over my own feet in my eagerness to get away from other people, to be alone. I walk back to the apartment as quickly as possible, counting my breaths, my steps, concentrating on not remembering. When I open the door I'm relieved to find that the apartment seems empty, no Siobhan. I drop my things, only stopping to hang up my damp towel and sweats before blasting the music on my iPod and quickly going through the fridge.
No, I will not distract myself with unhealthy food, I grab a low-fat, non-sweetened yoghurt from the fridge and an apple from the bowl of fruit, and pick up a bottle of water before going into my room. I sit at the desk and eat my dinner, frowning, staring out of the window into the night, trying to let the music drown out my thoughts and feelings. Robyn is singing about a girl dancing on her own. Yeah, that's me. I feel the corners of my mouth dragging down, and I'm momentarily worried that I'm giving myself a whole new set of sad worry-lines, post-Edward lines. This is no good. I stand up and stretch, take my trash out to the kitchen and head into the bathroom. I will not wallow, I'm a strong, independent woman with my whole life in front of me. I'm going to go out with friends and feel good about myself!
Toothbrush, hair brush, make-up and a tiny splash of perfume later, I'm heading out in skinny jeans and a long green silk top with a black jeans jacket on top, cutting straight as an arrow through this city of anonymous crowds, lights and sounds. I'm going to find people who know me, people who – I think – love me. I blink when I feel my eyes smarting, but I tell myself that it's just the eyeliner. Things are getting better. They will have to get better. They have to.
When I get to the pub it's Jacob, Peter, the Brazilian girls and a lot of people I haven't met before, and for a moment I feel my heart sink. I still feel a little uncomfortable meeting new people, in spite of the fact that I've told myself over and over that it's silly to think that they have any reason to judge me. To be sure, these people don't seem to be interested enough in me to form any kind of opinion. After a smile, a hand-shake or a wave I'm part of the group, unnoticed, inconspicuous, just the way I like it. I sigh with relief as I sink down beside Jacob, who gives me a one-armed hug and promptly asks what he can get me from the bar. There's a bottle of tequila on the table and some lemon wedges, and it's obvious that the whole group has been drinking beer and doing tequila shots - the raised voices and giggling make me smile.
"I'll have what you're having: I haven't had tequila since I was in college."
Jacob looks skeptical, but then breaks out in a wide grin. "Bella, the college girl, welcome back! Wow, college girls just keep getting hotter these days!" He stops grinning when he sees my frown.
"Seriously, though, you look great in that outfit, Bella – other college girls can just go home right now and call it a night. Let me get you a glass and a beer, okay? Be right back, don't move. And don't let any douchebag take my seat either!"
He disappears through the crowd, his tall shape and broad back visible across the room as he maneuvers himself into position to get the bar keeper's attention. When I turn around I find a man watching me across the table, a smile on his face.
"Hi, I didn't get a chance to properly introduce myself, I'm Aidan." He gives me his hand and we shake awkwardly between the bottles and glasses. He has dark brown hair that flops across his forehead, a handsome face with shrewd eyes that miss nothing and a pronounced cleft in his chin that begs to be touched. "Do you work with Jacob? You're Bella, right? He's been mentioning you a lot."
I shake my head, embarrassed at the thought that Jacob's been talking about me to people I don't know. What on earth has he told them about me, anyway?
"No we don't work together, although we're both fellow countrymen and we're working in the same field, in a way. Jacob is really a nice guy, but he talks too much. If he's told you that I'm an emotionally unstable lush who's liable to rant at you about the rule of patriarchy when I drink too much, he is way off target. I only do that when I'm with friends."
Aidan laughs, and it's a disarming sound, just as Jacob plops himself down beside me again.
"I hope to become your friend, then Bella, and you can rant at me all you want."
Jacob looks between the two of us, quizzically. "Uh-oh, what has Aidan been telling you now?"
"Oh, Bella has only told me of your verbal incompetence, which I understand encompasses everything from your academic writing to your general failure to come up with a decent pick-up line? The last part is something I can bear witness to from personal experience, I may add."
Now Jacob is mock-scowling at Aidan, while I help myself to a shot of tequila and a fresh lemon wedge.
"Look who's talking: Mr. Incompetence himself! Aidan here is slaving away all day as a copy writer at some pathetic ad agency, which gives him an awfully big head. Unfortunately, that's not what girls are looking for in the big department, so after he ends up lonely and rejected in his parents' back room in Reading every Friday night he tends to take it out on the people he likes to pretend are his friends. I'm picking up all the beautiful girls I want, thank you very much, which should be obvious." Jacob smirks, and in a quick move, scoops me up and settles me on his lap, planting a smacking big kiss on my mouth. I've just swallowed my first tequila and lemon and Jacob's soft, wet lips are a chaser I didn't expect. I pull away red in the face, but Jacob's big hands around my waist prevent me from toppling over and falling to the floor.
"Hey, Bella, steady! Don't go swooning on me now." Jacob laughs, while I try to laugh with him and the rest of the smiling people around the table. But then I slap his chest and determinedly push him away.
"Okay, now: behave! I'm not your girlfriend, and I will not be objectified. Keep all parts of your body away from me."
I ask Aidan if we can swap places, and he's only too happy to oblige, although this puts him even more directly in Jacob's line of fire.
From a safer distance I watch their bantering, while I take another shot of tequila and enjoy the taste of my beer and the tang of lemon and fresh lime on my tongue. Too soon, though, people are breaking up the party to head out to other venues and I don't feel like calling it a night just yet.
"Bella!" It's Aidan, standing right next to me in the crowd of people putting on their jackets and discussing cabs and buses. "Would you and Jacob come with me to a rock concert I'm writing about? I have a couple of extra tickets and it's supposed to be really good?"
Jacob is beside me again, helping me into my jacket and he grins over my shoulder. "What do you say, Bella? Want to relive some more of your college days and go headbanging with me?"
I wrinkle my nose at him. "I never banged any heads in college, but I'd be glad to knock yours and Aidan's together if you act up." I clap Aidan on the shoulder. "Lead the way: I'm all for a little rock concerting, I did too little of that when I had the chance." I feel happy at the thought of loud music and a crowded club: movement soothes me, even if I'm a crappy dancer, and jumping up and down is just what I feel like doing now. I'm glad I decided to wear my black heelless riding boots.
We manage to find a cab and Aidan gives the driver the address. I'm still trying to learn to find my way around London and I stare out at the streets flashing by, catching an occasional street sign that I recognize. We finally stop outside a big brick building, a theater where a line of people are heading inside. Posters outside announce "Florence and the Machine", a band I vaguely remember reading about. My head is spinning a bit from the booze but I feel good. I'm with two handsome, funny men, we are enjoying each other's company and now there will be music!
Aidan gets us inside, and there's a bar at the back that's open so he quickly gets us drinks before I can decide whether this is a good idea or not. Surrounded by Aidan and Jake, I manage to push my way through the crowd much more easily than I would ever have on my own, and don't even spill my drink. We have seats close to the front of the theater, but there's an open space in front of the stage where I wonder if there's going to be a mosh pit. I've never been in one, but I'm feeling reckless tonight. A little stage diving isn't completely out of the question, either.
When the lights dim and the recorded music dies down, the crowd goes wild. I'm on my feet, downing my drink quickly so that I'll have my hands free for clapping. When the band starts playing the sound's incredible. It's like being surrounded and inhabited by the music, as if the rhythm and the guitars are taking me over from inside. The drums thunder in my ribcage and beat deafeningly against my eardrums and I fuzzily realize that maybe I should have brought ear plugs.
As if he's read my mind, Aidan taps me on the shoulder and holds out a pair of professional-looking ear plugs connected with a striped string. He winds it around my neck when I nod, and hands me the ear plugs, smiling, probably at the silly, blissful smile I feel painted across my face. I put the plugs in, and the sound is immediately muffled to a non-painful level. Jacob puts an arm around my waist and we sway to the music. No one is sitting down in their seats that I can see, and the space in front of the stage has already filled up. The singer is center stage and she's a force of nature; she has a voice that sounds bigger than her body and a commanding stage presence. She's beautiful, strong and awesome. I want to be like her. I think maybe I could be.
There's a brief pause in the middle of the concert, which I spend in line to the bathroom, but when I come out, Jake is waiting for me and I can't help thinking how sweet he is to watch out for me like this. He hands me a bottle of water, which I sorely need. We find Aidan talking to a couple of cool-looking guys who turn out to be musicians, too. He's interviewing them for his article so we leave him to it and find our seats just as the second act starts. I'm dancing, swaying, jumping up and down, letting the beat take my body and erase any lingering bad feelings or glum thoughts from my mind. When I look around, Aidan is back and takes my hand, moving with me so that we're almost dancing together in our seats. I can't remember feeling this happy in a long, long time. The room is spinning, but I feel so good I don't care. By the time the concert ends, everyone is ecstatic and I'm completely wiped out.
"Have you heard her before?" Aidan shouts to me over the general din around us now that the music has stopped and the generic background music is back on. I shake my head.
"No, but it was amazing. I've got to get hold of her music. What about you?" Aidan shrugs.
"I saw her before she got this big. She's good, though, and she gets better all the time. It was a good concert tonight. Thank you for coming with me." Aidan looks at Jake, who is standing behind me, a big warm hand on my shoulder. "Are you going home now?" Jake squeezes my shoulder gently and I hear a smile in his voice when he speaks close to my ear.
"I'm going to make sure Bella gets home all right. It's sort of a standing order from her flat mate, Siobhan."
Aidan raises his eyebrows and smiles at me. "So you're sharing a flat with Siobhan? I've met her. She's nice. Are you going to take a cab? It might be difficult to find one right now."
Jake starts walking slowly towards the exit, following the movements of the crowd. I can feel his hand on my back and it's a familiar, reassuring feeling. "We'll take the Tube, or the bus if we must. Don't worry, Bella, I've got this. I'll carry you home if I have to."
"I sincerely hope that that's a joke," I mumble, but right now I'm dead on my feet and definitely feeling the alcohol. Being carried doesn't sound half bad. Outside, it's cold and I'm grateful for remembering to bring my winter coat and scarf with me to the concert from the pub. Jacob helps me shrug into it, and in an almost tender gesture he wraps the scarf twice around my neck, then kisses the tip of my nose before letting me go. It's the tenderness more than anything that makes me tingle and my breath catch. I've missed this kind of sweet attention from a man after the weeks when Edward spoiled me with his affection. I lean into Jacob as he wraps an arm around me and starts walking along the road. Aidan trails with us and Jake and he jokes about the kind of people that go to these types of concerts and if you could write an article about the quality of a concert based solely upon what people you'd see in the audience.
After a while, Jake's piercing whistle and 6,4 towering body brings us the attention of a cab driver. Aidan waves us off, planning to walk for a bit and then spend the night at a friend's place. I stumble into the cavernous back of the cab, and promptly fall asleep on Jacob's chest, as the car speeds through the streets still lively with people spilling out of pubs and clubs. When we pull in to the curb in front of my house I wake up and start tugging on his arm.
"It's late and you live on the other side of town. Come on, you can stay the night. We've done this before." Jacob chuckles and pays the driver while I try to stand up straight and keep my eyes from falling shut again, letting the cold night air cool my burning face. It's not until we're inside the dark apartment, that I realize that maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Siobhan's door is closed, so she may have company. There's no extra bed and I don't really want to force Jacob to sleep on the floor again. That is bound to be uncomfortable.
While we get rid of our coats and shoes in the hall, I whisper, "Is it okay for you to sleep on the floor? I feel bad about it." Jacob smiles and touches my cheek. "Not a problem. Could I borrow a toothbrush, though? I feel kind of gross." I turn the lights on in my room, and in spite of feeling cross-eyed and achingly tired, I dig out a towel, an extra toothbrush and an old t-shirt that is XL and almost big enough for Jake's frame. Jacob takes his things and uses the bathroom before me, while I unearth a decent pair of pyjamas from the bottom of the drawer. I drag the quilt and a pillow from the bed to the soft carpet, prodding it with my toes and finding it pretty inadequate.
When he comes out of the bathroom, barefoot and dressed only in his jeans, his bare chest glistening with drops of water from his shower, I'm momentarily confused and have to avert my eyes. I didn't think about what it would mean to actually have a man in my room while I was conscious. To cover my confusion I carefully turn the lights out, leaving only the desk lamp to light our way.
I take a quick shower to get rid of the dried sweat from our dancing session, brush my teeth and take my birth control pill. I don't know why I keep taking them, except that it's a sign of good faith. One day I might meet someone I want to have sex with, even if it's not Edward, and that person just might want to have sex with me. Before shutting my phone off for the night and plugging in the charger, I check my private email account to see if Charlie has sent me an email yet, telling me what he wants for Christmas. I may not be planning on going home, but I do want to send him a present. My eyes get stuck at an unfamiliar signature. eacullen . Subject: Bella, please forgive me. My woozy mind goes very still and a wave of nausea rises in my throat. I quickly shut my phone down, leaving it on the counter by my bag of toiletries as I stumble out of the bathroom. Edward.
Inside my bedroom, Jake is propped on his side on the floor, wearing my t-shirt and wrapped in the quilt He's leafing through a book by the light from the desk lamp. He looks up when he hears me entering, but his smile falls as he sees the expression on my face. It feels frozen, so I have no idea how I look. Bad, I reckon. Jake throws the quilt aside, jumps to his feet and then stands in front of me, clutching my arms, as if he's trying to hold me up. "Bella, what's wrong? Are you feeling sick? Can I get you something?" I shake my head.
"Hold me," I whisper, "just hold me, please." And he does.
His big arms are an incredible comfort as they envelop me in a hug against his half-naked body, pressing me into his chest. His huge hand cradles the back of my head, and I close my eyes, pressing my cheek into his shirt, smelling the clean t-shirt smell mixed with his own strangely outdoorsy fragrance of woods and water and snow. He rocks me softly in a gentle movement, then pulls me down to sit on the edge of the bed. He scoots us up so that we're leaning with our backs against the wall, never for a moment letting me go. I crawl around so that my flannel-clad legs are across his lap and I can hug him harder, pressing my face into his chest. He's wearing a pair of black boxers, and his naked legs look tanned, golden-brown in the subdued light from the lamp. I can feel him kissing the top of my head and it reminds me of Edward, which makes my insides hurt even more. When I sob, he bends his head down and nuzzles my cheek, whispering, "Bella, sweetheart, what can I do?"
It's not a conscious decision on my part, but when I turn my head slightly, his lips are at the corner of my mouth, and when he kisses me there, I kind of melt against him. My lips respond, capturing his bottom lip and softly pulling it into my mouth. I can feel the electric bolt that goes through us both when our mouths connect and his tongue slips into my half-open mouth. The groan that escapes him echoes the deep longing rising up from inside me, the longing to be enveloped, to be cherished and obliterated all at once. I cup his face with both my hands and kiss him for real.
It's so different from kissing Edward, and at first that's pure relief. Jacob is different in every way; he is larger, harder, gentler, his kisses sloppier but passionate as he starts kissing his way down my throat, licking at my ear lobes, sucking on my shoulder as his hands follow the curve of my body and cups my hips, suddenly jack-knifing with incredible smoothness for someone so big, pulling his own legs up, flipping me down and himself half on top of me. I want him to cover me, smother me. He carefully cups my breast on top of my pajama jacket, and I arch into his hand.
His voice is gravelly when he speaks. "Bella, you have to tell me: do you want this? Because if you don't, just tell me to stop and I will. Okay?" I nod, impatient. I don't want to stop to think right now. I just want more of him, of his warmth, and his heaviness, his mouth and his strong and gentle hands.
It's not until after I've freed him from his t-shirt and his boxers that he carefully removes my pajama jacket, button by button, until he can pull it off my shoulders and reverently trace my breasts, first with his fingers, then with his tongue. I pull on his long, silky-soft hair and moan, pressing my hips into his erection. It feels big, but I'm not interested in making comparisons right now. I want to forget everything except us and how we make each other feel. I palm him and feel him arch into my hand, sucking in a sharp breath.
"God, Bella, oh, that feels so good. Can I please touch you?" His voice sounds as desperate as I feel, and I shimmy out of my pants, ignoring how naked I feel in the cool air of the room. It doesn't matter what Jacob thinks of me because we're just friends. He wants this as much as I do, I can feel it in every way. When his large hand palms my center and starts exploring me with his fingers, I feel my eyes roll back into my head. God. I've missed this. I keep touching him, until he grabs my hand and stops me.
"I'm gonna cum if you keep that up, Bella. Is that what you want? Or could I please be inside you when I do? I have condoms in my wallet." He hesitates. "Is that too much? Just tell me. Anything you say is fine." I shake my head and mumble, "I'm on the pill. I'm clean. Please, I want you." I put my leg across his hip, pressing my wet center against his hardness, and he makes a sobbing sound as he rolls over, kissing me deeply. "God, I want you so much Bella, I've wanted this for so long, you have no idea."
He positions himself at my opening and gently presses against me. I arch my back and lift my hips, impatient to feel him. We both gasp with surprise at the feeling when he enters me. It's been a while and I feel my flesh stretch to accommodate him as he slides deeper and deeper, until he's finally sheathed inside me as I feel him touch my cervix, a dull pain that is also a pleasure. I moan at the feeling of fullness, of being invaded by him, his skin, his smell and his heavy body on top of mine. I want him to shake all other memories out of me, as when I turn my purse upside down on the bed to empty it of all the hidden trash at the bottom. I want my body empty and clean, exorcised of every wonderful and painful memory of last summer. I want it now.
"More," I whisper, "Jacob, I need more." And he gives me more, with his mouth and his fingers and his powerful hips. Much sooner than I would have thought possible, I feel myself approaching my orgasm. Maybe it's just been too long. Maybe I just need this too much. I shake my head back and forth in anticipation and lift my hips even more, eager for the friction, eager for the feeling of being pounded by this beautiful, powerful body as I give myself over and let myself become pure physical feeling. It's like riding a huge wave that just keeps coming, building, then letting me slide over and over on the other side, into oblivion. Jake cums too, making abandoned noises of ecstasy and relief as he shudders above me, then buries himself deep inside me and rolls me around so violently that I'm afraid we'll end up on the floor. His arms are wrapped around me and his face is buried in my neck, I'm lying on top of him and I almost think he's going to go to sleep when he whispers; "Bella, that was so incredible. You're so amazing. I'm the luckiest man alive right now."
I'm slowly coming back to myself from wherever I've been, conscious of my body that feels heavy with sleep and bruised from the inside with the unusual exertion of lovemaking. I need to clean up. I kiss Jacob's cheek and whisper "Stay, I just need to use the bathroom for a minute." He lets me go, and I pull up the duvet and throw it across his naked body before I slip on my pajama jacket and tip toe out to the bathroom in the hall. It's not until I'm standing in the shower with the hot water running over my face that the enormity of what I've just done hits me. I had sex. With Jacob! Jacob, who is funny and sweet, smart as a whip and gentle as a child. Jacob, who I love, but am definitely not in love with. What the hell is wrong with me?
And the old feeling of revulsion comes back with full force. I feel ugly from the inside out, a pathetic woman who preys on younger men. I think back on that one, disastrous time last summer when we role played and I pretended to be Edward's teacher. How sick and twisted that seems to me now. If anyone ever finds out, I think I will die of shame. I didn't know everything about Edward, but I should have known that it was wrong to fall in love with him. And here I am, making another mistake, letting my horniness and desperation lead me into hurting another human being.
I sit down on the toilet seat, wrapped in a towel and sob into my hands. What should I do? How can I find the strength to face everything, to deal with Edward again? What do I tell Jacob?
A gentle knock at the door makes me pull up sharply, stifling my sobs.
"Bella? It's me, Siobhan. Can I please come in?" I scrub my face with the towel, then pull it tighter around me as I open the door. Siobhan slips inside, closing the door gently behind her. She's dressed in a Victorian-looking white cotton night gown with her hair like a golden-red cloud behind her. She looks like an angel.
"Sweetheart, what's wrong? I heard you come in with someone; did something happen?"
I shake my head and wipe my nose with toilet paper. "It's stupid. I went out with Jacob, and he came back with me. I invited him to stay over, then something happened and then … we had sex. Oh, Siobhan!" I start crying again, trying to keep quiet so as not to wake up Jacob. Siobhan pulls me into a motherly hug.
"Was it consensual? Are you okay?" Her voice is tight, and I feel cold when I realize how this might look to her. I nod emphatically, burrowing my head into her neck and taking comfort in the sweet, spicy smell of her, like cinnamon and cloves. I try to calm my breathing down.
"Yes, it was completely consensual. It was my own fault. I … I was upset, and I wasn't thinking. I just threw myself at him and now I feel bad. He p … probably thinks I want him, but … but it was a big mistake!"
Siobhan carefully untangles my wet hair and pushes it out of my face, then takes down my terrycloth robe from the door and wraps it around me, pulls a towel from the pile by the sink and starts rubbing my hair dry.
"You had sex with him, but you feel bad about it, because you don't really have feelings for him, is that what you're saying?" I keep my eyes on the bathtub and nod. Her hands are gentle but firm, and when she starts brushing my hair out I close my eyes altogether because it feels so relaxing. I've stopped crying and feel calmer.
"I had an email from someone tonight. He's a sort of ex. We broke up before I left the United States, and I made it clear that I didn't want to stay in touch with him. I don't know how he got my email address and it upset me. Then Jacob was there and I ended up kissing him. I don't know why I did that." I can feel Siobhan braiding my damp hair, then she tugs a little on the braid so that I open my eyes and look at her.
"Is your ex the reason why you've been so sad all the time? Do you miss him? What happened?" She sits down on the edge of the bathtub, her green-grey eyes intent on my face. I shake my head.
"It was the sort of relationship that was wrong to begin with and I should have known that, but I couldn't keep away from him. Then I discovered that he'd been lying to me and he had to leave, so it ended. Then I came here. I don't want to miss him, but I suppose that I do. Too much."
Siobhan looks thoughtful. "So you don't feel that you're ready to be with anyone else yet, is that it?"
"I don't know." I bite my lip, looking down. "I'm such a mess. I've started thinking that maybe I shouldn't be with anyone, ever. I don't seem to be good at relationships and I keep choosing the wrong kind of guys. I shouldn't trust my own judgment." I look up at Siobhan, and I can feel the helplessness painted across my face.
"I don't have very much relationship experience, except a marriage that ended in disaster. I'm beginning to believe that just because I've always felt ugly and geeky, I'm so grateful when someone unlikely turns up to sweep me off my feet that I don't stop to ask myself why they seem unlikely. I should be asking myself if it maybe means that there's something wrong with them. You know Jacob: everything's right with him. So, of course I'm not in love with him." I shrug, huddling in my robe. I feel as if I've reached some kind of epiphany here in the bathroom at 2 a.m.
Siobhan shakes her head and puts her hand on my arm. "Look, Bella, we don't know each other that well, but ever since you came here I could tell that you were feeling depressed for some reason. I thought it was the culture shock or that you were missing home, but I've really started to worry about you. Even when we're out with friends and you seem happy there's some part of you that's holding back, as if you're just waiting for the other shoe to drop and someone come to take it all away from you. And your eating … hell, I couldn't survive on twice of what I see you put into your mouth, alcohol not included, of course." I frown, because this is a sore point. I keep trying to lose weight, but I'm not doing that well.
"I'm trying to eat healthy. I don't have an eating disorder if that's what you're saying," I bite off at her. Siobhan nods, and her face is gentle in the artificial light of the bathroom.
"I'm not saying that you do. All I'm saying is that it seems to me you're being very hard on yourself and making yourself unhappy when you have no reason to be. You're an intelligent, funny and beautiful woman who seems to be very good at what she does. Jacob is very fond of you, and I'm sure that he won't stomp off if you tell him that tonight was a mistake. I'm very fond of you, too, and I think you should get some help. Find another perspective on things."
I squint at her, tired and skeptical. "What, are you suggesting I need therapy? I did try that before, you know. It was okay, but I don't know that I need any more." I think back to Dr. Banner's cool and quiet office and the hours I spent in there sniffing into a tissue, then gradually gaining my composure back. She was a behavior-related therapist and that was what I thought I needed at the time: help to get a handle on things and strategies to coping. I am coping better, now. I just feel terrible, that's all. Can therapy cure heartbreak? I don't think so.
Siobhan cocks her head and just looks at me, as if to say "What have you got to lose?" Then she speaks. "I have this friend, Maggie, who's a therapist. She works with a special technique, compassion-focused therapy." She raises her hands in the air, as if she can see what I'm thinking. "It's not mumbo-jumbo or positive thinking, I promise. It's more about identifying the things in your life that drain you of energy and recognizing and affirming what's good in your life. I tried it, and it really helped me feel better about myself. If you want, I can call her tomorrow and check for an appointment. I'll even go with you and see her. If you don't feel it's what you want, then you can forget it. What do you say?"
I twist the sleeve of my robe between my fingers. I have been feeling extremely low all autumn, so much so that I've been thinking of seeing a doctor to ask for some kind of medication, which is a sign of true desperation on my part. Maybe the drinking has been some kind of self-medication. In any case, it's not working, and it's counteracting my weight-loss goal which makes me feel even more worthless and depressed. I sigh.
"All right. I'll come with you and see this Maggie-person. But I'm not saying I'll start therapy with her. I'll talk to her, and then we'll see." I stand up and lean forward to hug Siobhan. When she's sitting down, she's a head shorter than me, and I press my cheek into her soft curls, hugging her warm, soft body.
"Thank you," I whisper, and feel her answering squeeze around my waist.
"You're welcome. Do you think you can sleep, now? Do you want to stay in my room?" I shake my head.
"No, I'll be fine. I'll talk to Jake in the morning. Right now, we both need our sleep."
After Siobhan has gone back to bed, I put on my pajama jacket and creep into my bedroom. The light is still on, but Jake is snoring, deeply entangled in the duvet. I find my pajama bottoms on the floor, turn out the light and wrap myself in the quilt on the carpet. I wince when I feel the floorboards digging into my hip underneath the carpet. Crap. I'm too old for this stuff. It takes some time before I finally drift off to sleep. Jake's snoring and my own churning thoughts needle me every time I feel myself relaxing. I feel as if it must be close to dawn when I finally drift off to sleep, too exhausted to resist anymore.
When I wake up, I'm confused at first. I'm back in my bed, and I'm alone. As soon as I sit up, I see Jacob sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed, dressed and reading.
"Hey," I mumble softly. "why are you down there?"
Jacob startles, puts the book down and turns to me. He's frowning, and I immediately feel the guilt pulling at me. What have I done?
"I woke up in the night and saw you on the floor. I figured you weren't comfortable sleeping in the same bed with me, so I moved you. It didn't seem right that I should steal your bed."
"Did you get any sleep?" I ask, trying to think of a way to start the conversation. How do you dump someone when you've only just got together? But it seems like Jacob is reading my mind. He moves up and sits on the side of the bed, while I scoot over to make more room, and he touches my cheek very carefully, his eyes sad.
"Were you having second thoughts, Bella, is that it? Do you think this was a mistake?"
He's giving me an easy out. I shake my head, because it shouldn't be that easy.
"Yes. I mean, I shouldn't have done what I did. You're a wonderful man, Jacob, and you deserve better from me than this. I wasn't thinking, just reacting. It wasn't even about you. I'm so sorry."
His face hardens. "So, there's someone else? I thought you were divorced? Is it someone I know?"
I shake my head, embarrassed. "No, I'm not in a relationship with anyone, that's not the point. I had an affair last summer after my divorce came through, and it ended badly. I left all that behind me when I came here. Now he's trying to get in touch with me again. It's very confusing. I shouldn't have made you think I care about you that way." I stumble and try to amend my words, "I mean, I care about you, I do, which makes this worse. I'm not in love with you, though. I shouldn't use you like this, just to try to make myself feel better."
Strangely enough, my confession seems to improve Jacob's mood.
"Oh, if that's all, don't worry about it. You can use me to feel better anytime you like." He smiles at me, a cheeky smile, and now it's my turn to frown.
"No, really, I don't want you to think that this is something I normally do. I don't pick someone up just to sleep with him or make myself feel better. Well, I've never done it before anyway." I falter. There really are no excuses. "What I'm saying is, I want us to be friends, but if you don't feel that it's possible, I accept that, too."
I look at him solemnly. I really don't want to lose Jake's friendship. He has been one of the few bright spots in the grey days of November and December. Our conversations and his unfailing kindness to me, how he teases me and listens to me and draws me in whenever we're with his and Siobhan's friends; all of it has definitely given me something to look forward to every week.
He slides up to me and puts his arm around my shoulder, kissing the top of my head. "I really like you Bella, and I don't want to lose our friendship either." His voice is serious, and when he looks at me his eyes are warm. "I'm not going to lie; I want more with you, I do, but if you're not ready to give it I'll accept that – for now. To me, tonight could never be a mistake, Bella. I wanted it to happen, and I think that deep down you wanted it, too, or it wouldn't have. But if you feel like this was too soon, I'll dial it down a notch until you have time to catch up with me."
I frown at him. "I'm sorry if I led you on. Please don't get your hopes up, Jacob, because right now I feel a very long way away from being relationship material. It would be wrong of me to string you along under the impression that I'm going to fall in love with you any time soon."
He leans down and rubs his nose against mine in an Eskimo kiss.
"I'm not worried, Bella. You love me already, you just don't know it." Before I can protest, he jumps up from the bed and reaches out a hand to me. "So, what are we going to do today? Did you get all of your Christmas shopping done? Are we still on for Christmas dinner?" Like me, Jake isn't going to waste money on going back for the holidays, and a bunch of us foreign researchers are banding together at the house of an American professor at the University of London and his wife who are hosting a pot-luck Christmas dinner. I have promised to cook a vegetarian hot dish and Jake is bringing American beer. I shake my head.
"I have some things I have to do today, but we can get together for lunch tomorrow if you want to? And, no, it's not going to be weird going to Jim and Ann's house together. Just, try not to think of it as a date, okay?"
Jacob nods, and quickly gathers his stuff from around the room, folding the quilt and hanging the t-shirt from the back of a chair. He's neat, for a guy. I follow him to the door and give him a quick hug and don't try to dissuade him from kissing my cheek as he leaves, since he's been doing that for weeks now. Zero weirdness is what I'm going for. Pretend nothing happened.
Once he's gone, I postpone breakfast to go back to my room and start my laptop. I open my private email account and stare at Edward's email. Do I want to know what's in it? If just seeing his signature made me run off in a panic and have sex with a guy, what would it do to me to read his words? I shake my head, my heart beating hard. No, I'm not ready for this. But I'm not ready to throw his words away, either. Maybe it's something completely innocuous. Maybe it's just a "I'm sorry everything turned out such a mess, I hope you don't harbor any ill will, because I don't" type of message. Anyway, I'll read it later, after Christmas is over.
I create a new file on my computer, name it "Past" and save Edward's email before deleting it from my email account. I wonder how he got my address? This is an old email address that only my parents and a couple of old friends still use, the only address I kept tabs on the whole time I was on my sabbatical. If worst comes to worst, I can always ditch it and start another one. I press my lips together as I realize that it's most likely that Rose gave it to Edward, since she's the only one I know who's been in contact with his family. Why would she do such a thing?
I quickly write an angry question to her, then a less irritated email to Charlie, reminding him that since he hasn't told me what he needs for Christmas, his gift will now arrive well after New Year's Eve. Well, I'll probably just give him a gift certificate to tickets to the game of his choice, or a trip to a fishing lodge. He still goes to the mainland occasionally with one or two of his old buddies for a baseball weekend or on an extended fishing trip. Since he refuses to take money from me to stretch his meager pension, I try to provide a silver lining when I can.
When I walk into the kitchen, Siobhan is there, looking at a newspaper and drinking tea. She gestures to the teapot, inviting me to sit down with her.
"Is everything okay?" she asks, her grey-green eyes kind and interested. I pour myself a cup of tea, take the milk and yogurt from the fridge and start fixing myself some breakfast.
"I guess so. Jacob seemed to take it well when I told him I thought sleeping together was a mistake. I mean, he made it clear that he wanted more than friendship, but that he was prepared to wait for me to come around to his point of view." I sigh, sitting down with a glass of water and my bowl of fruit and yogurt. "I hope I haven't screwed up our friendship. I really like Jacob."
Siobhan looks at me and smiles. "So, how was the sex?" I sputter, and spray yogurt around my plate as Siobhan starts laughing. "That bad, huh?" I shake my head and glare at her.
"Don't surprise me like that. It's really none of your business, but the sex was okay. More than okay. If I'd been in love with Jacob, I'm sure I would have found it amazing." I feel myself blushing. "Well, it's been a long time, and it felt good to be that close to someone again. I guess I've missed it more than I knew."
Siobhan leans forward and pats my arm. "I'm sorry Bella. It's just that Alba has been eyeing Jacob for a long time and there's been some speculation as to his size on our girls' nights out. I thought you might enlighten me, that's all." I close my eyes, embarrassed.
"I don't have a lot of experience, but tell Alba that he seems pretty well proportioned. I wasn't surprised, let's leave it at that. Now, can we please talk about something else?"
"Okay," Siobhan leans back in her chair and looks at me. "How about we call Maggie today and try to make an appointment?"
I sit for a minute, chewing quietly and thinking things over. Yes, if I want to get to the bottom of my problems and make sure I'll be ready for a normal, healthy relationship sometime in the future, I should try everything. I look at Siobhan.
"Yes, let's do that. I think it's something I want to do."
'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*
E-mail from BaSwan (a) hotmail. com to rosalie (a) hale. com
Dec 22 2009
Subject: WTF?
Rose,
What the hell are you thinking, giving my e-mail address to Edward? I thought you agreed with me that I couldn't trust him and that the best thing was for me to break off all contact with him? I appreciate all you have done for me and I value your friendship, but right now I need you to not take his side, and to stay the hell out of my personal life. Merry Christmas.
Bella
E-mail from rosalie(a) hale. com to BaSwan (a) hotmail. com
Dec 26 2009
Subject: Merry Fucking Christmas!
Merry Christmas to you, too, Bella. Sorry, but you need to calm the fuck down. You have no business telling me off, since you're not the one who's had a semi-psychotic teenager breathing down your neck for months, doing just about everything but have a gang of Cribs beating down your door. He's been calling my office, getting hold of my home number so I had to change that again, mail-bombing me and sending letters to the firm. I've had respected colleagues and the wife of a partner trying to intercede for him. Finally he came to my office and handcuffed himself to a couch! It's been beyond belief. I'm done!
So I gave him your hotmail-address, the one you hardly use anymore, so what? If you want to avoid him, don't log on! Or if you want to erase him completely, just delete his e-mails on sight. Or put them away somewhere safe without reading them and save them. Then you can gloat in public over his imbalanced ravings fifteen years from now when he's a respected politician trying to marry a Kennedy. Whatever. I don't care.
And for the record, in spite of the fact that he's a piece of shit for lying to you and immature because he's so young - and a bit creepy - he is scarily perfect for you. He's too smart for his own good, good-looking, artsy in that way you like them, and polite whenever he's not madly raving about trying to get your number. Plus, you've had time to lick your wounds; you can't possibly be full of raw emotion still? You'd better start dealing one way or another, because I've got a feeling this guy isn't going away anytime soon. It's time for you to fight your own battles.
Rosalie
A/N: So, are you going to kill me now? (Just for the record, I'm Team Edward all the way.) Please don't hesitate to tell me how you feel: you've been eerily quiet for the past few weeks and I don't know if it's because you're still counting to ten with gritted teeth or if you've thrown your hands in the air and given up on me completely... I promise that I have a plan! Thank you for Reading!
