I'm going to stay up and update tonight! Hopefully I can get everything posted on fanfic by tomorrow!
25
Certain environments—right circumstances—everything morphed into something new. Changes poured together and mixed into something unrecognizable. Every moment stretched until seconds had slipped through my fingers. Time worked on people. Every time I thought of my father, I thought of the way everything shifted. Even the air around me had tasted different, and Evergreen looked more like an unfamiliar movie than my life. Time had worked on him—gnawed away at the bits and pieces I knew. Time and death—it dragged people down. The images in my head of him—convoluted and many—never matched the reality he had created. I had romanticized the idea of having him. Then, I had hated him for disappointing me.
Was I fair? Was I just as fucked as the rest? I inhaled the cool air and stared out into the space ahead, wishing my thoughts were just as blank as the air in front of me. When things get quiet, I always have these little pity parties, don't I?
Memories filtered in like they always did. My mind was always like a movie, and I couldn't help but wonder if everyone was the same. Did everyone have thoughts that played like scenes from an old film reel? Was this creativeness lucky or just a bitter reminder of the past?
"Don't touch me!"
"Come on, Bella. We're all going out to dinner. We're going to your favorite spot. Your sister—"
"Just leave me alone."
I shut him down. Swallowed the discomfort and shut him out. The hopeful look in his gaze faded, and in a secret little way, this made me happy. Delirious. Why should he feel hopeful anyway? What did he have to smile about after what happened? Too fast. It was all too fast.
The old me was always a little voice in my mind. She was stubborn and bitter and cringey at times. Bright but never gleaming because after what happened, she didn't want to be. Sometimes, she brought happy thoughts for me to reminisce on, but many times, she reminded me of how much of an ass I'd been. Everyone dealt with pain differently. I had projected onto everyone around me until there was no one left. The people who entered my life after that had been reflections—all mirrors of how I felt about myself. I was nothing. They had eaten away whatever was left. Happier memories began to filter in. Now, the voice was younger. Lighter and happy.
"Daddy, Daddy! The swings! The swings!"
"Again?" His eyes smiled as he looked at me. "Aren't you tired?"
"Push! Push!"
"We've been swinging all afternoon."
"No. I not tired. I perfect."
My feet lifted from the ground as he took me in his arms. I was flying. The air tasted different up here. He flattened me out, and I stretched my arms far in front of me, wiggling my fingertips as I made faces at the air. Then, I was flying—really flying—through space. He roared out laughter, and I did, too. Flying was funny. We should all fly more.
"I no swing. Do this! Do this, Daddy!" I screamed into the air as I cut through it.
He humored me, letting me fly until I got hiccups from laughing. He laughed, too, causing his face to wrinkle up.
"You're fun, Daddy."
He placed me back on the ground before I had flown too far. I was faster than the birds with him. I flew higher than them, too. Daddy made me fly higher and higher until the clouds were kissing my face. I wished he could come with me and fly at my side. But if it weren't for his hands supporting me, I wouldn't be able to fly so high at all.
I was on my feet soon enough, allowing Charlie to experience his own little journey. He liked to fly, too. He giggled against the air and stretched out his tiny fists. Gently, he moved through the air with unrestrained laughter. Edward looked up from his phone, and then opened his camera app, rising to take a picture of us. As much as I hated seeing my face on screen, I wanted to capture the moment—he wanted to capture everything. Moments faded so quickly and could last forever. Moments captured felt like moments that could never die. It proved this was real. The happiness became tangible when it could be reviewed.
Every shot was candid, and every smile was inspired by the little boy in my arms. Like a superhero, he moved through the air, cutting against the wind with his tiny fists. I knew that in his mind he was in another world—another part of space. The past couldn't touch him. The future had no limits. I always wanted it to be like this for him. I hoped the air would always taste so freeing.
"He should always smile like this," Edward commented as he lowered his phone and switched off his camera. "I'm a little envious. Being young and carefree … I never appreciated those moments until now."
"You have new moments to appreciate," I pointed out as I crossed the grass to stand next to him. "Only remember what makes you happy, Edward."
The shitty bits could be harped on all day on loop. From now on, I would only soak up the good and shed everything else. Shitty memories could slip off me like useless scales. With Charlie wrapped safely in one arm, I reached for Edward's hand and intertwined his fingers with mine. His calloused fingers felt nice against my smooth palms. Every bit of him felt nice, and in his presence, I would forever feel intoxiKateed.
"It's easier said than done." He breathed in the cool air before he sighed and continued. "I'll try to though. For Charlie, I'll try to let things go."
"You don't have to let everything go. Just the dark parts … I lock them away somewhere. They're only there for when I want them, and they only affect me when I give them that power."
I had the power now. I had taken it all back. It was a challenge, controlling the mind—embracing the good while blocking the things that trickled in at night.
After that, he was quiet—lost in his thoughts as he wondered what to do with everything brewing inside of him. His brows were knitted for so long I wondered if his face would stick that way. Charlie fell asleep early, leaving me to tend to Edward as he became stuck in one of his moods. When the sun set, it seemed to be a challenge for both of us. So, we would lose ourselves between our cheap cotton sheets, distracting the minds with our bodies.
"Sometimes, I really think you seem like a dream … you never seem real …" he murmured against my sweaty skin, lapping it up before smiling up at me over the peaks of my breasts.
"I used to think the same," I murmured into the darkness.
He snorted at this as redness bloomed on his cheeks. Bashful. He seemed so young. "Thanks for saying that … but I don't know … it feels impossible. I've never been anyone's first choice."
He stopped speaking as he took in my expression. A chill ran down my spine as my body shook. With narrowed eyes and a hard expression, I looked at him. Somehow, it felt like by insulting himself, he was insulting me, too. Is my love just a mistake to him? Am I defective somehow?
"Why do you have to do that?"
"Do what?"
"Kill the mood."
I pulled away, causing his brows to draw together. His eyes searched for answers in my expression, but with every passing moment, he seemed more and more lost.
"I'm sorry. Habit, I guess."
"You have a habit of insulting people you care about?"
"Who was I insulting? I wasn't insulting you."
"I've had poor judgment in the past"—I cringed at the memory and shut it out just as quickly as it came—"but I don't think I've misjudged your character. You're a good person—why don't you see that? Don't you realize that by shitting on yourself constantly, you're insulting me? I think I know you pretty well, even if we haven't been together long. I don't have to familiarize myself with every ounce of your story to recognize you for what you are."
His face became hollow, and he slumped forward, resembling a marionette, as headlights passed through the blinds and highlighted his inked muscles and sunken lips. My hands reached forward, moving along the lines of his ink as I waited for him to look up. Time was swollen as it hung in the air between us. Even touching, I felt the distance between our spirits. When he was like this, there was no getting near him. It didn't matter if his cock was deep inside of me and his mouth moved across my skin—he was never close enough. I wanted his spirit to tangle with mine until I barely recognized my own thoughts. I loved him enough to eat him up and consume all there was. I wanted him to do the same to me.
"I don't give you enough credit, do I?"
He ran a shaky hand through his hair and tried to fix his expression.
"You don't." My tone was meant to sound teasing but my voice shook.
He flushed his body against mine as he put his weight on top of me and pressed me into the mattress. Limbs intertwined, and suddenly, I was home again in his arms. I felt his erection against my hip. My chest flushed, becoming blotchy as I felt his cock's neediness.
"Can we try this again?" he questioned as his lips found my neck.
Delirious with his mouth on my skin, I only managed a mumbled out a regurgitated response. Eyelids fluttered and my jaw clamped shut as his hand moved between my thighs and teased at my wet skin. Everything inside of me became numb as my body ignited with his fingertips. His fingers dipped inside me, and my body felt like is was floating in mid-air—I was flying again. Soaring as I felt high off of hallucinations.
Moments flashed by as I came down from my first orgasm, withering and mewling. Edward's fingers disappeared, and he moved between my legs, lining up his cock before connecting with a single thrust. His lips found my neck as his fingers found my pebbled nipples. Just as I was going to cry out, he covered my mouth with his, eating up my tiny scream. Here, covered in sweat beneath thin sheets, he was in his element—confident like I had never seen him anywhere else before.
He thrust until I couldn't think, and then he pulled out, ejaculating on my stomach as his heavy breathing filled the room. His phone buzzed across the bedside table, and with a sigh, he grabbed it and checked the number.
"I don't recognize it," he commented as he keyed in his password to listen to the voicemail.
As he listened, I watched, tucking a pillow beneath my chin. His face gave nothing away. I leaned forward and tried to decipher the muffled, male voice on the line. Nothing seemed recognizable—the call ended before I could figure out a single thing. He dropped his cell on the mattress before he did the same. His body was posed against pillows as he turned to me.
"Who was it?"
He ran a hand through his matted hair, staring up at the ceiling before answering me. "Kate's parents—I barely recognized her father's voice. That's pretty shitty, isn't it? I haven't even thought about reaching out …"
"So much has been happening."
"I know but—fuck. I'm constantly wondering if I'm doing right by Charlie. It's never enough. He should have everything, shouldn't he?"
I curled up against him and rested my head on his chest. His breathing made me feel as if I was lying on waves, and for a moment, he almost lulled me to sleep. "You did what you could. You're always doing that. Don't beat yourself up. The world's hectic enough."
"But Kate was all they had," he said to the darkness, avoiding my gaze.
I intertwined our hands and waited for him to brighten. When he didn't, I spoke up. "It's not all on you, Edward. Stop trying to carry the weight of everything."
"I should carry the weight—I've never done it before. It's always been everyone else … never me. I'm just … not used to doing things for other people. It's fucked but I never even thought about it. I was just always lost in my own head—always stuck on my own shit. But now, I've got him to care for, and I don't know which way is fucking up. It freaks me out. I feel so … lost."
"Let me search for you then." I smiled against his chest as he relaxed a little. "Besides, you could never be lost, Edward."
"How's that?"
"Don't you feel it?"
"Feel what?"
"The string … the bond between us."
I looked up and found him smiling quietly. He treated every emotion like it was a secret. No one outside of himself could know that he could feel. When he smiled, it felt like I was always the only one seeing it.
"The string … what does that even mean?"
"It means we're bonded. There's something tied between your heart and mine. We'll always be connected. It's like … Well, I suck at describing things."
"You're a writer," he interrupted with a smirk.
I laughed against his skin before I closed my eyes and continued. "It's sort of like when you have two pairs of headphones and the cords get all tangled together, and no matter how many minutes you spend trying to pull them apart, they … wow, that's so cheesy." I covered my face, embarrassed. "It's like we're tethered. That's all I'm trying to say. You're stuck with me, Edward."
After a heartbeat, he responded. "That was cheesy." A laugh ripped through him as I poked his side. "Still, I get what you're saying. You're stuck with me, too, baby. Tangled up in me or whatever you said."
He wrapped his arms around me then and flushed against me. His mind was elsewhere now. His embrace always gave him away. When his mind was absent, his hold felt loose.
My pencil tapped on the paper in front of me, my mind numbed to the rhythmic beat. My skin soaked up the day as I leaned against my window, enjoying the sounds of Charlie's laughter as he posed in my lap. Drawing him was different every time. Every day he came up with a new expression. He had come at the right time—they both had. I had been completely unaware of the existence of loneliness in my life, and then they came along and illuminated everything.
Edward was at work, leaving me to my own devices here. After the nights we've been having together, he needed the labor and fresh air to shed everything. Lately, he'd been opening up, blossoming in front of me in a way that made him unrecognizable in certain moments. His words played in my head like a song and made me realize that I liked every inch of him—good or bad. I loved every one of his ugly bits. Like me, he was an introvert who kept to himself. Everything else seemed to be a phase to him. Months had become one experience after the next.
"I whored around because I didn't have anyone. Fuck, it sounds stupid or like I'm making this shit up … but really, hooking up gave me someone to spend time with. I've never had a lot of friends … or anyone, really … It's always just been me."
Seth had been everything before he had become nothing more than thin air to him—that's what he constantly said—"thin air." Every time, I had asked him what that meant. He always responds saying that's what he sees when he talks to his brother now—thin, empty air.
My cell buzzed against my thigh. I didn't have to look at the ID to see who was calling. His voice was loud and precise, and despite being at work miles and miles away, it felt like he was right next to me.
"Shit, baby, I've got to get back to work," he said after a few minutes of aimless chit-chat. "I just called to ask you about going out of town this weekend. Kate's parents"—his coworkers hollered in the background, teasing him for talking to me for so long—"want to see their grandson and—guys will you fucking chill for a sec? Anyway, they want to see their grandson, so I was thinking we could drive out to Nevada this weekend. It's Mae's birthday—Kate's mom—and I thought seeing her grandson would be a good gift to her." He paused for a moment, stumbling over his words before adding, "Well, I guess her husband thought it'd be a good idea for her. He's the one looking out for her … I'm just clueless when it comes to this shit."
"You're not clueless," I replied in a tone that was almost maternal. "I'll tag along. I said I'd follow you wherever, right? You didn't believe me."
"I should have more faith in you, I guess," he said quietly into the phone. Voices boomed behind him, imploring him to hang up and get back to work. "I'll see you tonight, babe."
"Tonight," I said before we hung up.
Slowly and carefully, he was blossoming in front of me. In my college dorm, my desk had been littered with tiny succulents. I had purchased them at a hardware store, believing it would be nice to learn to care for something. Schedules became busy, hours at work became long, and seasons shifted, and during all of this, the plants wilted and died. Parts of them began falling off and onto the dry soil before I had taken note of them. After that, I had tried to water them, but it was too late. Ashamed, I had tossed them in the trash as I wondered how long I had been stuck in my own little world. I wasn't stuck in my head anymore—locked away in my own darkness. Living in a fantasy world was far easier than accepting the real one. Edward had broken through his subconscious space and would hopefully remain in this reality with me—and with Charlie. Although, I understood that the world could get too heavy to bear. Sometimes, things were more comfortable when the space around you was unrecognizable.
"Babe, can you come here for a sec?"
Edward stepped outside the bathroom and leaned against the doorframe with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. Dark eyes sparked as they implored me. His feet bounced on the ground—body buzzing as he stayed in one place. Every inch of him seemed on the verge of combustion as he waited for me to move. My eyes dipped over him one final time before I stood and closed the distance between us.
He ran his hand through his hair. It seemed we were both ready to crawl out of our own skin today. His agitation surrounding today matched my own. He knew he would be judged for each and every thing he did. I would deal with that, too, combined with being an intruder in their little world. Meeting Charlie's grandparents made me feel outlandish. After everything that had transpired, I would be nothing more to them then a difficult pill to swallow.
"Didn't you say you used to cut your dad's hair or something?" Edward pulled his hair at the roots, demonstrating how long and unstylish it was now.
I nodded as a smile tugged at the corners of my lips. His expression morphed into something calm as he wrapped his arms around his torso to pacify himself. If we had more time, I could have calmed him down in my own way. Sex had a way of making him forget about the issue.
"I mean, the only person's hair I've been cutting recently is Harper's …"
"Cool. Can you do something about this then? It's beginning to look like shit."
"Let me grab my scissors, and I'll be back."
His eyes moved over my curves, dipping down to my feet and back up again. I felt them everywhere as I bit down on the inside of my cheek, running my tongue over the backs of my teeth as I suppressed a smile. His eyes always made me feel feminine and fuckable—like I should strip down and make him beg. With that thought in mind, I made my way back to my apartment.
My body hummed as I came back—still wired from his attention. He sat on the bench in his bathroom and waited for me. His hair was messier than normal, as if he'd just been trying to yank it from its roots. It pointed in all directions as if he had just been pressed against a mattress. Not noticing me yet, he stared at his reflection in the mirror, pulling at his tanned skin and scratching at his five o'clock shadow. Bluish grays colored the thin skin under his eyes. He bit down on his lower lip as he continued to assess his appearance. Despite being beautiful in his own unique way, he was never satisfied with the man he saw. There was always something more he wanted, and regardless of what he did, it was always just out of his reach.
He closed his eyes for a moment, angling his head toward the ceiling as he exhaled. Quietly, I approached, putting the scissors down on the counter in front of him before bringing my hands up to massage his head. He keened at the feel of my fingers, smiling up at me with his eyes closed—lost in his daydreams. I hummed a nameless tune—something that had been stuck in my head for some time that I didn't recognize—as I massaged his scalp. The gentle touch was comforting for both of us.
"Does this feel okay?"
"More than okay?" Slowly, his eyes opened, and he drank me in. "When you touch me, I feel like I'm fucking floating or something. Flying through the air."
"Flying through the air … you make me feel like that sometimes, too."
He smirked. "When? When I fuck you?" I spluttered, gapping at him. So quickly, he could turn a romantic conversation into a dirty one. "Babe, don't answer if you don't want to answer—I know what you're thinking anyway."
"What? Are you a mind reader now?"
"I can tell that you want me—I can smell it on you."
"Edward!" I whacked him before reaching forward to grab my pair of scissors from the counter. He was being crude. Something about that was a major relief.
"Sorry, sorry." He straightened his back and sobered. "I've just got a lot on my mind."
I picked up a comb and began to rake through his tangled hair. No matter how hard I yanked, he never once flinched. He leaned back into the pain as I pulled the plastic comb as hard as I could from the roots, releasing some of the knots. The repetitive motion lulled me into a state of consciousness that was more bearable. Our combined nerves weren't bubbling up.
"Is it anything I can help you with?" I murmured as I continued to comb.
"No, it's just shit I have to work out in my own head. Everything gets fucking lost in there."
"You always do that, Edward."
The disappointment was clear in my tone. Regardless of the situation, he wanted to be the only person carrying the weight. He would bear it until it killed him.
"Do what?"
"Working everything out in your head by yourself. Don't you ever want to—"
"I don't need to burden you with all of my shit. If you even knew the magnitude of the shit that I carry, you'd—"
"It's not a burden, Edward." An exhale passed through my lips as I bent down and rested my chin on top of his head. He leaned into the touch, gentle despite his harsh, self-depreKateing tone. "If I want to do it, it's never a burden."
If he understood, he didn't say a word. Introspectively, he sat and waited for my scissors. Before I started cutting, I watched his expression in the mirror. Dark eyes fluttered and darted a few inches back and forth, looking at everything and nothing simultaneously. Trapped in his mind—analyzing every action or phrase—he peered into space. He searched for answers in the air.
My fingers worked through his hair before I brought up my scissors and began to cut. Edward faded before me as my mind focused on something else. My senses were filled with cigars and peppermint, leading me to think of him—the first man to shape who I was.
"Sweetheart, do you think you can do something about this? It's getting out of hand.
A laugh passed through his lips—breathy and awkward. His cheeks flushed, redness pressing against the edges of his stubble. Dark eyes widened, becoming hopeful as they took in my guarded expression. Every bit of hope was restrained—it was tucked away in a deeper part of him that he was too fearful to touch. Regardless of the time that had passed, he persisted in reaching out to me—part of me hated him for it. Part of me hated myself for it. His familiar face had become painful. It sucked me dry and hallowed me out. With guileless eyes that made him appear childlike, overpowering the dead air that surrounded him, I felt guilty looking at him. My hatred had manifested into something palpable. It weighed down on us both.
"I'm busy."
My answer was short and direct. It punched where he was already messed up.
"It'll only take a few minutes, right? I don't want to pay someone—"
"Have her do it."
Her's was a name I didn't want to say. It tasted like vomit pressed against my lips. It was illogical—maybe—but she had slipped into my mother's place. Every one of her moves had seemed effortless. I couldn't look at him anymore. He moved on without grieving with us. The world deteriorated for me while his had been sunshine.
"Her?"
"Please just go have someone else do it. I'm busy."
For a moment, he hesitated in the doorway, gripping the frame as if he could steady his emotions that way. My heart trembled against my breastbone. Why can't you just leave? My mind shouted the phrase again and again as if it could transmute to sound. His eyes widened, and for a moment, I wondered if he had listened to the screaming inside my head. I adverted my gaze—I couldn't look at him anymore.
"Okay …" Uncertainty dripped into his tone as it colored his skin. "Bella, how about we do something together—just you and me? We could go to the museum like we used to or do something—"
"I have finals coming up." My words were quick. "I thought you wanted me to do well? You always talk about how proud you are every time I come home with straight A's."
"Life's more than that, Isabella. I do want you to do well—I want you to live, too, though, kid."
"Live? I am living. We're all living. You more than anyone."
"What does that mean?"
In a heartbeat, my back was to him, and I moved toward my room. He knew what I meant. Somewhere in his mind, he knew my feelings. Annoyance bloomed in my breast before developing into something more. Why can't he take the hint and leave? my mind screamed as I felt his gaze on my back.
"You deserve a break. I think you need one."
"If Mom were here, she'd be encouraging me. She always wanted me to get into a good school."
"She'd want you to enjoy yourself every now and then. Life is short, kid, and—"
"You don't think I know that?"
"—if you spend your days behind a computer or buried in textbooks, you'll miss it all. You'll regret it."
"What do you know about regretting things?"
Unable to help myself, wanting to see his expression terribly, I turned to face him. His gaze was wide and struck like a blow.
"There's so much I regret."
"Doubt it."
"We're the same, you and I," he said as I turned away again. "We're more alike than you know."
His voice vibrated through me like most unpleasant things did. Every upsetting phrase was felt in my core, trickling out of my pores until I turned into something bitter, too. If we were the same, he would spend his time reminiscing and holding on to the past. Alone wouldn't feel lonely because there were so many memories to grip. He had thrown the past away—shoving it into a corner of his mind that felt comfortable. If anything, dissociation was the only way we were similar. However, my detachment felt less problematic.
"We're not similar—not in any ways that matter."
"Let's go somewhere, Isabella. I want to talk to you. When was the last time we just talked?"
"I don't know … before her … before you—shit, Dad, I don't know. Talking doesn't really matter at this point, does it?"
"At this point? What point are we at?"
"The point where you can't turn back anymore. You make all of your choices without us anyway. Let me just make this one."
My fingers moved through Edward's hair as one memory faded into the next. They were all so jumbled together in my mind, highlighting moments that tasted bitter on my tongue.
"Stop trying to relate with me—don't talk to me like that."
Her words tasted too sweet, giving me cavities rather than comfort.
"I was your age once, too—"
"Stop trying to parent me!" I cut her off as my eyes shot through to the back of her skull.
"Bella, don't talk to her like that," Dad interjected.
"Don't you get that I hate you? Don't you get that whenever you're around, I want to throw up?"
The words poured out like vomit, quickly and uncontrolled. It was everything that had been festering inside of me. Her caring words had set me off—everything she said was artificial.
"Stop it," Dad responded as he stepped in front of his girlfriend, guarding her.
"You're just—"
"She's not your mother, but she's a person, Isabella. You can't talk to someone like that. How could you?"
"I don't even recognize you anymore."
Edward's head was posed against the curve of my belly. His forehead pressed against my fleshy bit as he stared up at me with a curious gaze. Only then had I realized that I had stopped cutting. He read my expression and straightened up, saying nothing before he smiled at me in the mirror. I eyed his reflection, wondering how I met someone who matched me so well. Every bit of darkness I felt, I knew he dealt with, too.
My gaze softened after a few moments of taking in his relaxed expression. With my shoulders dropped and posture relaxed, I leaned forward to press a kiss onto his forehead. His skin was warm beneath my lips, and I hovered there for a moment, pressing my breasts against his back as I gathered my thoughts again. Every step forward was assaulted with fragments of the past. He leaned back against the feel of my lips, beckoning me to kiss him again.
He moved his head against the bottoms of my breasts as I leaned over him. Pulling back a little, he kissed them as he pressed his warm lips against the fabric of my shirt. His heat made me keen. I lowered myself down, burying his face against my tits before I let up and bent down to kiss his forehead once more.
His face was flushed as he straightened his back and peered forward to resemble the perfect client. The stressed energy from minutes ago had left his body. Everything about him was lightness as I began to cut again, styling his hair into something stylish yet effortless. The scent of his Suave shampoo mixed with the Lacoste Essential I had purchased for him made my head spin.
A song I didn't recognize filled the air. He whispered it as he closed his eyes and melted against the feel of my comb running through his hair. The melody was lilting, and I barely made out a word of it, as his whisper was so severe. It was a song he was holding close—not even something he wanted to share with me. His eyelids fluttered, and while his body was here, it seemed that, for a moment, his spirit was somewhere else. It may have been with Seth—perhaps it was visiting with someone he had yet to mention. Every time he was lost in his own thoughts, I wanted to dip into his brain. There had to be a glimpse of something interesting that I could capture. Everything was so compartmentalized that I was sure I would have to open many doors to reach him. His subconscious, like my subconscious, was nothing but doors leading to bits we wished could look unrecognizable.
"There," I said, running my fingers through his finished cut as I stared at the pulsating vein running up his neck; I wanted to kiss it. "Now, you're perfect."
He leaned forward and opened his eyes to focus on his reflection—they widened for a moment before his shoulders rolled back and relaxed. With his gaze on our reflection, he reached back and ran his fingertips along my arm, silently thanking me. He was too cute not to smile at. My grin formed in perfect unison with his.
"It looks amazing, babe. You're going to have to cut my hair from now on."
"That can be one of the few reasons you keep me around," I teased as I messed with his hair, giving his roots a small tug before pulling back. "I'll let you finish getting ready. I still have to get Charlie dressed, and God knows how long that's going to take."
His eyes were focused on his reflection as I moved from the room. Doe-eyed and flushed looked odd on someone inked and muscular. Experience changed a guileless gaze, but despite the shit that festered around him, Edward still appeared innocent. It made me want to wrap him up and protect him with everything I had—even if he was an adult.