We sleep in his bed for once.
His alarm sounds too early for how late we were up. He shifts, moving away to turn it off. Then he's behind me again, body pressed against mine. Still lying on my side, I scoot back even closer to him. His chin is resting over my shoulder, but then it's replaced by his mouth. He doesn't kiss, just leaves his mouth there, on the shirt that's covering me. I can feel the warmth of his breath through cotton, and it makes my body warm.
Seconds pass, and he moves like he's gonna leave. I roll over to face him. I don't want him to get up—I don't want to leave this little bubble we have for only a couple more hours.
"Don't," I whisper, eyes still closed, and bury my face in the nook of his shoulder.
"I have to shower," he murmurs, voice thick with sleep.
"No, you don't. You smell fine."
"I smell like beer and whiskey."
He does, but I say, "It's fine."
"I'll be back."
I groan, letting him out of my grasp as he slides out of bed. I crack an eye open and watch him slip out the door before snuggling deeper into his comforter, falling back asleep.
I'm not sure how much time passes, but I blink my eyes open and find Edward sitting next to me against the headboard, hair wet and mug in hand. He's wearing a long-sleeved shirt and a somber smile, and his eyes are on me, like he was already watching. Like he's been waiting for me to wake up. I sit up bleary-eyed, feeling caked-on mascara covering my lashes.
"Morning," I mumble, attempting to smooth down my tangled hair.
His gaze sweeps over me, still in his T-shirt. "How'd you sleep?"
"Better than I have recently." It's not a lie. Memories of being tangled up with him all night fill my mind. He must be thinking about it too because when I watch his face for too long, his eyes leave mine.
"What time is it?" I ask.
"Seven." Dread sinks in when I realize he'll be gone soon. "My parents will be here in an hour or so."
"How are you feeling?" I ask.
He shrugs a little. "I'm… okay. You?"
"Not okay. Are you mad at me?"
"Not mad. Just confused."
I swallow, looking away. "Yeah."
He sips his coffee then scrubs a hand over his mouth.
"What are we gonna do?" I ask, so quietly.
His gaze stays trained on my face. "What do you mean?"
"What are we gonna do about us?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing?" I repeat, face falling.
"Bella." His tone has barely changed, but I detect something there, almost like a warning.
"What?"
"We're talking about this now?"
"Better late than never, right?"
"I don't think so," he says neutrally. "Why did you come in here last night?"
My mind races as fast as my heart, and I know I need to find a way to make this better. "Because… because I miss you. I don't want you to go. And if you do, I want you to come back, and I want to fucking be with you. I do. And fine, okay. I'll trust you. I can trust you, so just… don't stop being my friend and don't leave without being mine again. Please."
I blurt it out so fast, not bothering to take a breath to let what I'm saying sink in. Edward doesn't respond other than lifting his eyebrows into his hairline. A beat passes, and he holds my gaze, calling my bluff.
"You don't want that," he finally whispers. "Please don't say things like that if they're not true."
"It's true," I cry, wiping my cheeks. "I do want all of that. I want you."
He exhales, shaking his head. "Where was this a month and a half ago? Why are you doing this now? Today's gonna be shitty enough as it is… please don't make it harder than it needs to be, Bella. Please."
"I'm not making it harder," I argue. "Isn't saying that I want to be with you making it easier?"
"No, because I know you don't mean it. Last night I told you I don't want to be friends, and suddenly you're healed and want me back? It feels cheap. It doesn't feel like the Bella I know."
"It is me."
"It feels desperate."
"You think I'm desperate," I deadpan, sniffling.
"That's not what I mean. I just think you're scared. If you wanted me again, you had all this time to tell me. To fix it. Yet you didn't, not until I'm an hour away from leaving."
Okay, so it doesn't look great. In fact, when he says it like that, it seems a little manipulative. It doesn't feel deceptive in my heart though. I want him, but he's right. I'm terrified. I'm scared if he walks out of this house, I'll never see him again.
"So the timing sucks," I say.
"The timing is questionable."
I want to ask if he still loves me. I want to know if down the road, whenever I get my shit together, if he could still feel the same way about me, or if I fucked this up too bad. I don't ask him, though, because from the look on his face, I don't think I'd like the answer.
Emotion wells in my chest, and I try so hard to hold back. I don't want him to see me like this—don't want his last memories of me to be desperate and crying in his shirt.
"I fucking hate this," I murmur, a few tears slipping out.
"Bella."
"What?"
"Please stop crying," he begs. "It kills me. I hate seeing you like this."
"Sorry." I catch my breath, wiping my face with his shirt, watching as black stains appear on white cotton.
"Don't be sorry, just… fuck."
"No, I really am," I sniffle, staring at his face. "I'm sorry for everything. For not trusting you, for pushing you away. I'm sorry I'm not better. You didn't deserve this broken version of me. You didn't deserve any of it. So, yeah, I'm sorry," I mumble, fully knowing these were things I should've apologized for months ago.
He exhales, setting his mug on the floor and reaching for my hand. "Come here." I let him guide me over, so I'm nestled between his arms and chest, my head tucked under his chin. He's so warm and good, and I don't want him to leave. "You just said everything I've wanted to hear," he murmurs. "But I need you to mean it."
"I do mean it."
I feel his chest rise and fall. "I can't go to LA and have you get pissed at me in a month and break it off again. I can't do this back and forth shit. It's not healthy for us. It's not… normal."
"I'll never be normal. Or perfect," I point out, sniffling. "You know that, right?"
"I know. And I loved you despite your imperfections. That's not what this is about."
"You're not perfect either."
"I'm not saying I am," he agrees. "But I never doubted us. Not once. And that's all I needed from you... to trust me. Even when we were at our best, I could see it in your eyes that you weren't all in. It killed me. But I was willing not to push it because... I was scared."
"I wanted to be all in. I did," I cry, burying my face against his chest. "I still love you. I know it doesn't change anything between us, but I do. Even when I was pissed and didn't trust you... I always loved you."
"I love you, too," he says, after a beat. "Which is why I can't be with you. Not like this, not right now."
I know what he's saying is true, and that's why it hurts so bad. Because what did I really expect? For him to suddenly agree to be with me—after everything—and have a healthy long-distance relationship? Not even I'm that naive. Not really.
And fuck me, I know everyone has given little bits of advice here and there, trying to guide me in the right direction. It's as if I needed a catalyst—like him actually leaving—for it to ignite something in me. For it to nudge me toward actually trying to change. I hate to admit it, but it's true.
"You need to work through some stuff," he says gently, not at all judgmental. "A lot of stuff. For yourself, not for me." He hesitates. "Or for your next relationship, if that's something you want."
"Don't say that," I scoff. "There's no one else, Edward."
"You don't know what could happen," he whispers. "But if you move on… or I move on… we have to be okay with that."
Even though he can't see me, I glare. I hate that my issues have brought us here, to a point where Edward's even mentioning the idea of moving on. But if I'm being honest, I can't be mad. I should've anticipated this. I can't expect him to wait for me forever, especially when neither of us had talked about the future until last night.
"I get it. I do. It just… fucking sucks."
We fall into silence, just lying with each other until he says, "I'm sorry I yelled at you last night. About not trying. I was just upset." He clears his throat. "I know you're going to therapy, and you're doing that for the both of us. It was a shitty thing for me to say."
I appreciate his apology but still say, "You had every right."
"No, I didn't. It was a dick move, and I'm sorry." With my arm around his stomach, I hold him a little tighter. "I think some time apart will be good. Get your head straight. Me too. And once you feel ready, then…"
"Then what?"
"Then we'll go from there."
"How will I know?" I swallow, sniffling.
"I'm not sure. That's for you to figure out, I guess."
My heart hurts but not nearly as bad as before because I recognize that this is not a goodbye. It's not. Maybe we won't be friends for a while, but it's not a forever kind of thing. There's a huge chance we'll never be together again romantically. I know the outcome relies heavily on me. But he's giving me hope, the tiniest bit, and I'll gladly take it.
I shift, so I can look at him. With my chin on his chest, I memorize the lines on his face, his jaw. The sincerity in his eyes, the way his brows are knit together in concern. I think he's doing the same as his gaze trails over me. I love this man; I know I do, even if my way of loving isn't conventional. Even if my way of accepting love is toxic. Now I just need to figure out a way to put myself together again, to make myself feel whole without him being in the equation.
Ultimately I know he—and everyone else—has been right. I need to figure out my shit. I've needed to do that for a while, but I've put it off and pushed away the pain because not feeling felt better than immersing myself in it. I need to learn to trust and love myself first before I can love and trust anyone else. Before I can rely on anyone else.
With these thoughts, my eyes well again, and I blink the tears away. "I should let you go," I say, sitting up.
His own eyes begin to fill, and it's awful to see. "Yeah."
"I'm gonna miss you," I mumble to his blurred face.
He cups my face with both hands, thumbs brushing my tears. "Me too, Bell."
I stand from the bed, using the back of my hand to wipe under my eyes. He stands too and lingers near me, goodbye imminent. I turn to him, and he grabs my waist, pulling me against him. I reach up and wrap my arms around his neck. We hold each other for a moment, but it feels like forever. I cry; he does too. I don't want to let go, and I definitely won't be the first to break this. But then his grip loosens, and I have to loosen mine too. We're still so close, but I can't look at his face, so I stare at his chest until he says my name. I lift my chin a little, and he dips his head, pressing a small, chaste kiss to my lips. With our wet cheeks pressed against each other, I kiss him back. We stay that way, in a sad embrace, until I'm the one who has to break it because I'm crying too hard.
"Fuck," I breathe out. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry."
"It's just hard."
He licks his lips, nose red from crying. "I know."
"Don't come find me before you leave. I can't do this again."
He nods. "Okay."
I caress his chest, my fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt before letting go. I somehow find the strength to walk down the hall to my own room. I somehow find the strength to let him go, when everything in my mind screams to do the opposite.
Y'all still with me? It only goes up from here, people, I PROMISE. Next update will be Wednesday.
In the meantime, y'all should check out 2 of the fics I'm currently crushing on:
Body of Christ by Belladonna and TheFictionFreak
White Noise by Hotteaforme
Thank you for reading! And to Hadley for everything!
P.S. this chapter was the shot, and the next chapter of This Thing Called Love is the chaser. Don't say I never looked out for y'all! lolol