A/N: I'm doing a quick update for a couple of reasons. I'm going to be insanely busy this week and not at home a lot. I have a bazillion things on. Also, it's to make up for the kinda-sorta hiatus I put it on awhile back. I've also written a few more chapters. I don't think there's much more to go now :'(
Thanks Kimmie45 and StarryEyedWriter8.
Hoodwinked
Chapter 31
For the next week, Edward barely speaks to me. There's no more "Boog" or "Bell", nor flicking my forehead or clamping my nose. Nothing. I'm back to being "Bella", and ironically, I've never missed being called "snotface" more in my entire life.
Actually, I can't even say for certain that I'm even Bella anymore. He hasn't addressed me at all, even when he was forced to acknowledge me and that was only twice. Both times he opened the door to me when I came to see Alice. At least, he assumed I was there to see Alice, because he made it clear he wasn't receptive to anything else.
"Hey," he mumbled, his tone even; he wasn't giving anything away.
"Hey," I echoed in a whisper, my eyes falling to the tiles beneath my feet.
I half expected him to ask what I was looking at, but he didn't. He simply pulled the door open wider to allow me to enter, then turned his back on me and left the room without another word. It stung, and to make matters worse, he's made no attempt to contact me, but then, neither have I.
I realise we're in some kind of stalemate, but I'm just as angry as I am hurt. No matter which way I look at it, he deflected his pain onto me in an effort to rid it from himself. It was clearer than all our childhood memories. The death of his mother, the problems he now has with his father, he's unable to deal with them, and his coping mechanism is to immediately offload it.
To me.
I'm beginning to believe him when he said it wouldn't work between us, and the fear and panic over it is starting to consume me. I'm worried he's right.
"Did I deserve it?" I ask Alice the following Friday night, on day ten of—whatever the hell we are. I can't accept we've broken up, but I'm steadily running out of denial.
We're hanging in her room, on her bed, wiling away the hours with nothing much to do. Jas is having a boy's night, leaving Alice free, despite the fact that she's spent every spare moment with me over that last week and a half, and Edward is...I have no idea; just that he's out and he didn't take his car.
"I would have advised against it," Alice says with deliberate delicacy, pulling her attention momentarily from her phone, "but, of course, you didn't deserve it. He over-reacted like he always does when it comes to Dad."
"But...he's..." I abandon it. I'm not sure what he is, but then I was never sure about him, and I'm also not sure if I'll ever forgive myself over it. Or forgive him. Or if I even know where my head's at right now.
"Bella," Alice begins, pausing to exhale a heavy breath, "you just got in between. It wasn't your fault." I'm sure she meant to reassure me, but it has the opposite effect on me.
"I didn't mean to hurt him," I lament pointlessly. It's not the first time I've spoken those words, and Alice is aware of it more than anyone. Instead, she only nods her head in understanding, but with a little too much ferocity.
"You didn't hurt him—Dad hurt him." Those words aren't new to me either. We're both repeating ourselves, with no idea how to move forward. Alice can no more help me out of this situation than I can help myself, and I'm starting to doubt whether I really know Edward at all. Whether he was always such an impulsive, deliberately hurtful arsehole.
"I miss him," I whisper despite myself and every rational thought I'm still wrestling with. And unable to hold them off, tears slowly trickle down my nose as I hug Alice's pillow to my chest. For the last three weeks, Edward and I were practically glued to each other, and the absence of him now is stark. I've cried every single day since the Tuesday before last, but every tear I've shed has been completely futile. They've no more taken the pain away than they've brought him back.
But even if he did come back, what would I say to him?
Renee is currently in denial, more so than I am. She even gave me a reprieve from babysitting duty tonight. I wish she didn't, though. Jake keeps me busy and my mind diverted, because keeping it focused on Edward is becoming unbearable. Even so, there was no break up kit, no sex manual, and no words of wisdom. She simply squeezed my side and told me exactly what Alice has been repeatedly echoing, "Give him time."
Time, though, is running out, and Edward's convictions don't appear to be wavering, nor mine for that matter.
I didn't live up to his expectations, and he gave up on me, and while I'm really not sure what I expected from him, it definitely wasn't this.
We're over before we barely begun, and all I can really grasp from it is confusion.
"He misses you, too," Alice assures me, wrapping a comforting arm around my shoulder. "He's just...gotta work stuff out. There's no way he's going to end things with you so soon." She doesn't sound exactly confident. In fact, I'm certain she's saying exactly what I want to hear; unless I'm just seeing everything now through a lens of pessimism.
"So, if he apologises, what do I do? Just smile and wait for the next time he takes his bullshit with your dad out on me?"
Alice pauses and gauges me even as she nods her head slowly in silent agreement. "Do you want to work things out?"
"Yes," I admit sheepishly, despite the fact that my head is shaking subconsciously to the contrary. "At least I'm no longer a virgin," I mumble stupidly, before descending into sobs.
I think Alice meant to laugh. At least, that's what it sounded like as she attempted to console me. Not because it's funny. Pathetic, maybe. It's the closet word I can use the describe it.
Let's face it, I broke up with two people in the space of a month, and while I can't really compare Mike with Edward, all I can think is that Lauren kept him around for two years. Lauren Mallory, who screwed around on him and who doesn't have anywhere near the history with him as I do, was able to have somewhat of a relationship with him where I couldn't.
If pathetic isn't the right word, I'm not sure what is.
"He's got all these layers—shithead, smart arse, arsehole—takes nothing seriously..." I shake my head past the absolute bewilderment of him. "But beneath it all, he's in pain. He always was." I feel like I'm trying to convince myself as equally as I'm explaining it to Alice, even as I attempt, and fail, to pull myself together. "And we had sex in the treehouse." I fully embrace the word pathetic and completely fall apart.
"I know," Alice says gently, sounding like she's on the verge of laughter again. "I saw."
"What?" I momentarily forget myself in mortification. "You saw?"
"Well, I didn't see, see, but it was pretty obvious what you were up to." She smiles at me sadly; the way you do when you're reminiscing about times long past.
"Alice!" I protest, and it's not because of what she may or may not have seen.
"I'm sorry," she says remorsefully, but I know she gets it. She gets her shithead, complicated brother, as well as me and all my boyfriend-repelling tendencies.
It's not just a boyfriend I've lost, though. This is nothing like my break-up with Mike. This is losing my past, a part of my identity, and half my heart simultaneously.
"Was he looking for an out?" I speculate, putting it to Alice as a question after pulling my damp face from her rabidly dampening cushion. "It was so...over the top."
Alice sighs for the infinite time that night and appears to mull it over for a couple of seconds. "I don't know, Bella," she concedes. She's serious, and it doesn't give me much hope.
"I should have never gone down that road with him," I murmur, wishing I hadn't so profoundly right now, even as I know I'll never fully regret it.
"He practically pushed you into it," she reminds me.
"And yet he couldn't wait to get out of it," I declare, shaking my head past it again. It doesn't make any sense, but then maybe I just don't want to see what's right before my eyes.
Denial is a powerful thing.
Alice gazes at me, but says nothing; she only sighs wearily to herself one more time and resumes browsing her Instagram.
"How's he been?" I ask in a whisper, unsure I really want the answer.
"...Off," she eventually answers in a quiet voice, frowning to herself.
"How do you mean?"
"He's been really moody, but he hasn't said anything. He usually shrugs things off, but he's hanging onto this. When he broke up with Lauren he looked relieved." She breaks from her phone to glance over at me, throwing me an awkward smile.
I return it, fleetingly. "I'm not sure..." I don't finish. I can't; I'm not sure there are words adequate enough to describe the mess my emotions are in.
Her smile turns sad again, and for a moment she looks on the verge of tears along with me. But pulling herself quickly together, she slides herself to the edge of the bed and swings her legs to the floor.
"Wanna pig out?" It's a suggestion she's made more than once, but I always declined. Pigging out means it's over, and I'm not ready to accept it just yet. But maybe it's time.
"Okay," I mumble, even as my chest clenches in pain.
"'Kay. Be right back." And squeezing my shoulder with affection she hauls herself to her feet and leaves the room.
I follow her half an minute later, only to immediately turn around and leave. The instant she opened the pantry door all I could see was Edward's Coco Pops. My throat began to choke behind my rapidly returning tears, and I knew I had to escape before I completely lost it.
I don't return to Alice's room, though. As if on auto-pilot I head to Edward's.
It's a complete mess. Clothes and various food wrappers are all over his floor, his bed's unmade, and empty glasses and Coke cans litter just about every surface. His computer's off, and with an obviously masochist degree of curiosity, I walk to his desk and shake his mouse. His Razer keyboard lights up first, letting me know it's not shut down but only asleep, before his screensaver switches on. That's when the tears break free and spill endlessly down my face.
I expected to see the busty blonde, but it's still me; it's the same photo he uploaded just after the formal.
Sinking to the edge of his bed, I grab his pillow and press it to my face, deeply inhaling the scent of him all over it. It takes all my willpower not to lay down and lose myself in those couple of weeks we'd spent more time than I'd ever imagined here. Where we talked and laughed for hours on end; where I slept in his arms and felt completely at ease; where we fooled around together; and where I eventually lost my virginity.
He's still the only boy I can say more than two coherent words to, and who I can maintain eye contact with for longer than three seconds. He's the only boy who makes me recall who I am behind the crippling shyness I've always suffered from, and I'm honestly not sure I'll ever be the same with anyone else.
"Bella...?" Alice breaks gently into my thoughts.
I look up at her through my tears, but it's not enough to obscure the obvious pain in her expression. "I'm sorry," I mumble for reasons unknown. I tell myself it's for forcing her through this along with me, but she'd never buy it.
Her arms are full of ice-cream, chocolate, and chip packets, and dumping them on Edward's dresser she sits herself beside me and curls her arm around my waist. "Look?" she prompts softly, tilting her chin past me.
I follow her gaze to Edward's side table, and then to the framed photo propped up against it, and for the longest moment I'm without words. It's of the two of us together at the formal. Alice took it when I was sitting on Edward's lap at the dining table we were seated at.
"When...?" I begin, but abandon it as I pick it up to inspect it closer. There's a slight smirk on Edward's face, reminding me why I was perched on top of him in the first place, and it threatens to completely shatter my heart. It's so quintessentially him; the shithead who I once thought would never stop torturing me while I repeatedly talked myself into feeling nothing for him but exasperation.
I still question how I could have been so blind.
"I noticed it a couple of days ago when I came in here looking for my iPad. He did this recently, Bella, so it's not over for him," she assures me, and it's the first time I've felt hope warm my heart since that dreaded Tuesday when his father came home.
"What the hell am I supposed to do with him!?" I burst with as much heartbreak as frustration.
"When he comes grovelling back—and he will—make it known you're not going to tolerate being his emotional punching bag. You deserve better than that!" She's insistent, her voice full of conviction, and she's right. I know she is, because I've been telling myself the same thing for the last week and a half.
"But, why won't he talk to me?!" I exclaim, my frustration again giving way to pain. "Why is he treating me like this is all my fault?"
"Because he's ashamed of himself, and he's hiding away hoping enough time will pass that you'll be able to forgive him."
I scoff and almost laugh dryly. "Of course I'll forgive him, but I'm...beginning to think he's right. Maybe we're not good for each other. Maybe I bring out the worst in him—"
"Maybe he needs to pull his head out of his arse before he loses you for good!" she breaks in, sounding suddenly impatient. "Bella, stop taking all this on yourself."
"I know," I concede, releasing my breath in a wavering gush. "I just...don't know where to go from here."
"I give him another day. Mark my words," she asserts, squeezing me in conclusion and I wish I could say I shared her confidence.
I throw her a badly put-together smile, but she's no more convinced than I am.
The fact remains; I've lost complete faith in the boy next door.
. . .
I really do need to start giving Alice more credit. She gave Edward a day, but in actual fact, he didn't last another hour. Just after midnight and after polishing off a tub of choc-mint ice-cream—while every bite reminded me of eating it with Edward—my phone's message alert signalled.
Imn sort Bel;. You deservr betetr thab mee.
I expected it to be from my mother—she's been messaging me every hour on the hour for a week to check in on me—but it's not. It's from Edward, but I still stare at it for way too long, attempting to make sense of it.
"He's drunk," Alice comes to the same obvious conclusion I do, as I groan out loud.
"Bloody hell!—how am I supposed to respond to this?"
"Tell him he's right," she replies; though, she's not really serious.
I huff in frustration, but I can't deny the relief I feel to have any kind of communication from him. Even when he's drunk.
I know. I type, but to his apology or his statement I'm not altogether sure. I'm pretty sure it might be both.
I;m cominh homw comt anf talj to mw?
"Oh my god," I mutter, bowing my head into my out-stretched hand.
"I'm coming home. Come and talk to me?" Alice attempts to decipher it, gazing at me for validation.
"I assume so..."
"Don't reply. He can come to you!"
He does.
Not half an hour later we hear him stumble through the front door, before his uncoordinated footsteps head in the direction of Alice's room.
"Bell!" He bangs loudly and erratically on her door, before it bursts open and he all but falls face first on the floor. "Hey..." He struggles to pull himself to his full height even as he sways on his feet. His face is flushed, his ears are beet red, and his eyes are bleary and bloodshot. Not to mention his hair; it's surpassed chaotic and is inching into the apocalypse.
Yeah, he's drunk, all right; fall-down, words slurred, on the verge of projectile vomiting, drunk. In fact, I'm pretty certain he's created a new definition for the term.
I release an exasperated breath, but I can't prevent my heart from going out to him. He's a complete mess, but still as insanely handsome as ever. Especially now that the grazes on his face from the night of the formal have almost completely healed.
"Sorry, b-boog," he stammers and then hiccups, before wedging both hands into the front pockets of his jeans, and throwing me a drunken, culpable smile.
"You should be sorry," I murmur, because despite him and me and everything I realise I'll always feel, anger is still at the forefront of my emotions.
"I a-am." He bows his head, sways again and almost loses his footing—enough that his hands spring out to brace himself against the doorframe.
"I'm going to call Jas," Alice speaks up quietly from beside me. "Go and make some coffee."
I sigh again, brashly this time, and pull myself off the bed along with her. "Come on," I say stiffly, grabbing a fistful of his shirt as I pass him.
He's reeking with the stench of alcohol—so much that I'm forced to hold my breath—but without a word he allows me to drag him into the kitchen; even as he stumbles behind me, almost tripping over his own feet several times.
"Is-is it h-hot in here?" he asks after practically falling into a chair at the breakfast table.
"No," I reply, my back turned to him as I switch on the kettle and rummage around for milk and sugar.
"Boog..."
"Bella," I correct him. "You're not allowed to call me that anymore."
"R-Really?" He hiccups again, even as his voice is laced with disbelief.
"Really," I reiterate, stretching up and pulling two mugs from the overhead cupboard.
"Bell-a... Can I still c-call you Bell?" he asks from behind me, his voice sounding so overrun that I turn and face him.
He smiles, and while it's obvious he's trying to appear at ease, all I can see is that underlying vulnerability that's always existed within him.
I sigh again, feeling my shoulders sag with it, and without a word I continue making coffee.
"Are you okay?" I ask after placing a mug in front of him. He's staring ahead, looking dazed, while sweat is beginning to bead along his brow.
"It's...fucking hot in here," he mumbles, reaching up to wipe his forehead and almost falling sideways from the chair.
I spring out and catch him, struggling to keep him upright, when without warning he suddenly pulls himself to his feet. "Let's go out-outside."
Without waiting for me to answer, he turns and staggers toward the front entrance. And picking up his coffee, as well as mine, I trail after him.
I sit down on the single step of the porch, while Edward lays spread-eagled on his back in the middle of the lawn. And to make matters worse, it's starting to rain.
I realise attempting to move him right now will be futile, so behind a heavy breath, I bow my head and I massage my brow with my fingers.
"Bell...?" he mumbles after a minute where I was certain he'd fallen unconscious.
"Yeah?" I reply softly.
He struggles to pull himself into a sitting position before he slumps forward, his head practically between his propped knees. "I fuck-ed it, didn't I?"
"...No," I say after almost telling him he had, but it'd be a lie. He was a complete shithead but it wasn't enough to fuck it. To fuck us.
"Yeah, I did..." He takes a shuddering breath and groans. "Fuck..."
"Edward, come out of the rain." It's steadily picking up in momentum, and he's starting to get drenched.
"Nah...it f-feels good," he stutters, placing both hands to the ground as if anchoring himself.
"Is the ground spinning?" I ask lightly, almost smiling to myself.
"Just...a lot," he says, scoffing wryly.
"Are you okay?" I ask again, not sure whether I should be worried about him, or not. I've already been thrown up over once, after all.
"Fine. Come here." He clumsily pats the grass beside him. "I can't talk to you when you're all the way ov"—he hiccups again—"er there."
"It's raining," I point out the obvious.
"Just get your arse over here," he slurs, and I don't think he meant to sound as pitiful as he did, but I comply regardless.
Pulling myself reluctantly to my feet, I step out into the rain and join him on the lawn.
It was hot today, a typical steamy mid-December's day, and the rain is actually soothing against, not only my skin, but my frayed emotions.
"Hey..." He turns to me and slumps a heavy arm around my neck. "I'm really...am s-sorry, boog," he continues to stammer, and leaning forward he presses an awkward kiss to my temple and almost slides down my face.
"I know..." I say quietly, hanging my head.
"I hurt you." His voice falls in mirror to mine, and he expels a deep breath. "Fuck..."
"You just become...someone else when you're around him," I attempt to explain, while knowing he probably won't remember any of this in the morning.
"Yeah..." he agrees, taking another momentous breath as his shoulders sag with it. "I love you, Bell, but I can't say it. Don't be mad, okay?"
It takes me a moment to realise exactly what he spoke, just as my eyes well with tears. "I won't be..." I promise him.
He shakes his head erratically, appearing suddenly frustrated. "I didn't realise. I-I never want to be hurt like that again. I didn't realise, Bell. I didn't realise..."
I shake my head with him, insistently. I need him to believe me, to keep the faith in me that he always claimed he had.
"I won't hurt you, Edward." My voice falls to a whisper, my tears spilling over.
He gazes at me for a couple of seconds as a small, sad smile pulls slowly across his face. "I...dunno. Sometimes I think, that girl I knew? She's b-better off staying in my memory."
"But I'm not in your memory! I'm right here. Next door."
"B-Bell, it's not you. I'm a fucking prick. I expect you-you to be perfect. I'm an idiot, and Jesus, boog, you're such an idiot too."
I gently shake my head, unsure of his meaning. "Why?"
"You asked my old man not to hit me." He scoffs to himself and almost laughs, even as rain hits his face and runs over his lips. "It was just so fucking you, boog. Jesus, it all came back. There she is. Goofy, snotface. And I…love you, snotface. I always have."
I falter again, continuing to gaze at him, and wondering whether he realises he's just said it twice. "I know, Edward. I really do. Will you talk to me again?"
"Yeah... I don't know. I'm just fucking scared. I thought...I could just coast, you know. Not get hurt. Fuck, then I remembered. You and that fucking pencil dick, made me remember!" He's losing coherency as the seconds pass, even as the rain appears to be helping sober him up.
"...What did you remember?"
"Please remember, Bell. Please remember why I'm so fucked...up. Why you can fuck me up more."
"Can't you just tell me?" I appeal to him, wishing he'd give me something—anything—to jog my memory.
He shakes his head. "No. I can't talk about it. I just can't. I can't say I love you. I can't. It's shit, but I can't."
"I'll say it for you."
"Hey." He plants his palm to my cheek. "Don't cry over me. Don't..."
"I'm not crying," I insist, wiping the evidence away along with the rain that's becoming relentless. "I love you. You opened my eyes again."
He pauses before an audible sigh escapes his lips. "I know. Just give me some time. I won't always be a coward. I just have to work out how I can have more than just sex with you."
"Edward..." I shake my head again, confused.
"You know how hard it's been. Ignoring y-you. Fucking hell—what have I done?"
"I'm not mad—just come back to me. We don't have to say those words. We can make new ones up," I plead with him. "I don't know how to not be with you." I sound a little too desperate, but Alice was right when she said Edward gets in your face and forces your emotions. He does. He did, and he's doing it right now.
"You just are, Bell. You're always with me. Always. Pain in the neck, you were born with me. I-I promised mum, anyway. Fuck..." Turning from me he tears up a clump of grass in his fist in a fit of obvious frustration.
"What did you promise her?" I put to him tentatively.
"I'd marry you."
"What?" My voice practically fails.
"I know, it was lame, but I was a kid and I loved you even back then. Mum, she got me, though. She got me. You get me. Alice... she just pretends shit's not happening. I can't blame her though. She's like the old man. I'm like him, as well."
"Edward... Can..." I begin when he almost immediately interrupts
"Bell, just don't talk for a while, okay. You talk so much. I get so caught up in it. I forget."
"What do you forget?" I whisper.
"Everything. Sometimes I think, it's not real. It can't be real. You were right, you know."
"What about?"
"I'm a scared little boy. You're fucking right. I-I can't help it. Once you've had your heart torn out like that, you're just... scared."
"I promise, Edward—I'll never hurt you," I vow, grabbing his hand and forcing him to look at me. He's continuing to yank out the grass, pulling fistfuls of it out in his hand.
He looks up and stares at me; his hair's plastered wet to his forehead while his eyes reflect that completely raw pain that he's so good at concealing. "You can't promise me that. I-I"—he shudders and almost appears to choke on the words—"can't promise you that. I'm too much of an arsehole. I know. You're right, Bell. About me. You're r-right."
"You're not an arsehole!" I insist.
"I am," he immediately counters. "I can be my old man if I'm not careful. I'm trying not to be. I really am. Shit, please don't leave me."
"I won't," I promise, my voice dropping to an emotionally affected whisper.
"I can't do that again," he continues, gazing into my eyes as though he were pleading with me.
"Can't do what?" I ask gently.
"Fucking mourn. You know how shit it is? How it fucking eats away at you? I hated it as much as I hated mum for leaving me."
Tears are beginning to flood me, and I realise I've lost as much control of them as my heart. "I'm so sorry."
"Bell... You tried so hard. To fix Alice. I-I-I watched you, and I wanted you to help me, but I didn't want to be around anyone. It wasn't you, Bell. You never lost sight of me. I just pulled back." He shakes his head, but he's rambling again, and I realise he's cracking open. I might never hear him be this open again, but at the same time listening to him unearth all this pain is unbearable.
"Edward...do you really want to break up with me?"
"Of course I don't," he answers without hesitation.
"Then why?"
"I just realised...maybe it'd just be too much pain for both of us. If it didn't w-work out."
"It will work out!" I stand firm. "I promise I'll never say anything to your dad again. I promise!"
"I don't know, Bell..." He expels a weary breath as his head hangs forward. "I don't know..."
"Edward..." I'm crying again, hopelessly crying, but I don't know what's hurting more; realising the extent of pain Edward's been concealing all these years or hearing him express his doubt so openly about us.
"Bell... I'm-I'm sorry..." He doesn't look at me.
"You can't open my heart again and then slam it shut. You can't do that to me! I'm sorry, Edward. What I said to your dad—I'm so sorry!"
He's shaking his head before he raises it, and when he does his eyes are practically on fire. "Hey!" His voice rises sharply. "I told you. It wasn't you. So d-don't say sorry. Don't s-say it. I don't fucking d-deserve it!"
"You told me to stay out of it. I sh-should have." My breath shudders, and despite the rain obscuring my tears, I still attempt to swat them away.
He continues to shake his head, slower this time, even as he gauges me as though I confuse him. "It's just fucked up, me and him. I-I know, but he only hits me because I l-let him. You don't need to protect me f-from him. I have to fucking protect you from h-him."
"Don't let him hit you!" I cry. "Don't."
"He needs to hit me, Bell," he admits sounding completely resigned, and it's heart-wrenching. "He needs...to feel something, and I'm a...I'm a prick to him. Midget is right, but it's okay. I j-just can't hit my old man. Mum loved him. He w-wasn't always l-like that."
"Christ, Edward, it's not okay!"
"Bell, please. Don't..." Turning away from me, he sways again. He looks suddenly on the verge of either throwing up or passing out.
Gripping his shirt in both my fists, I hold him steady, but he's way too heavy, and being semi-conscious is only making him heavier. "Let's get out of the rain..."
He shakes his head in a slow, sluggish movement. "Just...stay with me one more night, 'kay?"
"I can't Edward," I explain, fighting to keep my tears at bay; to not allow them to compromise my convictions. "It's either over or it isn't. I can't do this half-way—whatever it is. I can't."
"You're g-gonna get hurt," he murmurs, closing his eyes.
"I won't if you're just honest with me, but you can't just—Edward?"
He slumps against me and all but pushes me back on the wet grass with him, but that's when I realise.
He's out cold.
A/N: Hope you liked. Or not. Feel free to review. Or flame. All good.
