A/N: Remember at the end of 34 when I said I had this chapter almost written and I'd update it pretty quickly? HAHAHAHA yeah, I wrote Bella's memory and then it up and moved to Siberia on me. Oy vey, but it finally came back. I hope it's worth the wait, and you even remember wth's going on still.
Thanks to Kim for putting up with my anal-retentiveness. She got this chapter back to me a week ago and I stalled on it. I'm not sure why. It just didn't feel right to me. It's been too long since I've been in the heads of these two, I think.
Thanks to Melinda, too, and I hope you enjoy.
Hoodwinked
Chapter 35
It was late summer of 2011, and Alice and I were watching Up in her room. Despite the grief she was still so clearly trapped in, I knew she was enjoying it. She smiled several times; she almost laughed once or twice. It had been a little more than three weeks since her mother's death, and despite knowing how much she and Edward were struggling to find a way forward, she was having a good day.
It was one of few back then.
I spent almost every day at her house, at my mother's insistence. I was so young I never really understood my role as the best friend of two heartbroken kids, but I tried my hardest to cheer Alice up; to make her smile. Sometimes I succeeded, and that day was one of them.
It was an illusion though, a bubble; one that was all too often broken by her father. He was rarely home in the day's following the funeral. My mother filled his absence as best as she could, cooking and cleaning, and being present enough while still giving Alice and Edward space.
Edward wanted space; Alice didn't. She wanted company.
On that day, Mr Cullen was home. I was barely aware of it though, and the only reason I knew he was in the house was because my mother wasn't. It was approaching dinnertime; I know that because only a few minutes prior my mother had dropped off a casserole. I heard her talking to Edward; explaining to him how long it needed to be in the oven.
"Sure Edward doesn't want to watch this, too?" I asked Alice, after the sound of him slamming the refrigerator door and retreating back to his room pulled both our focus from the movie.
"You can ask him," she mumbled, shrugging a hopeless shoulder before turning her stricken gaze back to the television.
I thought it over for a moment or two before deciding against it. Edward didn't want anyone around him, and my mother repeatedly told me to respect his wishes. I didn't want to, though. I wanted to make him smile as well; only I knew he wanted no part of it. Or of me.
"Do you want cookies?" I put to Alice when she inevitably fell quiet. When Alice stopped talking, the tears would often follow, but if I was able to distract her and divert her attention away, I could somehow prevent it. My mother had been stocking their pantry, and she knew how much both Alice and Edward loved them—chocolate chip most especially.
"Yeah," she answered in monotone, and just as I was pulling myself from her bed, we heard it; the sound of shattering glass and several objects crashing to the tiled floor of the living room. And her father loudly sobbing.
On impulse, Alice and I clung to each other, cowering behind her bedroom door and from what was taking place with her father on the other side of it.
It quickly appeared to escalate. Mr Cullen's tears grew louder and echoed with anger, and whatever he was doing, it sounded as though he was tearing the walls down around him.
"Bella!" Alice cried, wrapping her arms around me tighter as fear wavered behind her high-pitched voice.
I know now he was drunk, but neither Alice nor I knew back then. All we understood was that a parent openly crying was a very scary thing to hear.
"Please go and get your dad—please!" she begged me.
I nodded my head hastily, but I wasn't sure I could move, fearful of what I would find when I left the room.
What I saw only confirmed those fears and instilled a sense of confusion and alarm within me.
Alice and Edward's father was slumped on the single step that separated the entry to the living room with his head cradled in both hands. He reeked of alcohol and his shoulders were wracked with heaving sobs while surrounding him was the broken glass and timber of several framed photographs that he'd obviously torn from the walls.
"Dad?" Edward's tearful voice spoke up, alerting me to the fact that he was in the room alongside me.
His father's head snapped up before he clumsily pulled himself to his feet. "Edward..." His voice slurred, and he swayed and almost lost his footing as he made his way toward him. "She...didn't...She didn't know..."
Edward shook his head, his body openly tremoring as tears spilled down his face.
"She didn't know..." Carlisle repeated, his voice beginning to grit further with anger and hostility, "that I loved her. She didn't know!" That's when he pulled Edward roughly to him, gripping him in his arms in such a way it looked as though Edward was all that was holding him up on his feet.
Edward's head hung back, his messy, chestnut brown hair sticking up in spikes like it was so often prone to. I forgot how red his hair was back then. He was so conscious of it that you dared not bring it to his attention. If only he knew what an amazing colour it really was, though.
"She did know, Dad!" he insisted, his voice breaking and becoming compromised further. "She did!"
"She didn't!" Carlisle barked out, making me all but jump out of my skin, while behind me in her room Alice started to wail.
I knew I had to move, to get to my parents, but I couldn't. I was overrun with fear, and it wasn't only for myself; I was as equally scared for Alice and Edward.
"She knew you loved her. She did, Dad." Edward was openly sobbing now, along with Alice and his father who continued to hold him awkwardly in his arms.
Carlisle shook his head in obvious grief and frustration before pulling Edward back and clamping his face between both his palms. "I told her every day, but she never knew!" he blurted, sounding so irrational I held my breath and fought back the tears I could feel burning behind my eyes. "I showed more love to my job, this house—everything but her! Words mean nothing, Edward! When you love someone show it, but never say it. Never say it." Releasing Edward, he staggered backward, and for one terrifying moment I was positive he was going to reach out and slap him. He didn't, though. Instead, he extended his hand, and placed it to the top of Edward's head. "Never say it," he repeated that sentence one last time, before he slumped back to the floor, dropped his head in his hands and continued to fall apart.
Edward didn't move; he only stood before his father appearing in shock and silently cried. I watched helplessly as his breath shuddered and his shoulders quaked, even as he clenched his fists in an obvious effort to hold himself together.
That's when he noticed me behind him, and in the next moment he whipped his head around and glared at me. "What are you looking at, snotface?!" he demanded, his voice hard.
"I...I..." I shook my head numbly even as my mouth opened and closed in silence. His anger had taken me off guard, and I was unable to articulate my confusion over what I'd just witnessed.
He only blinked repeatedly as though catching himself while his face slowly softened. For the next several, too-long seconds, he gazed at me, his expression indecipherable, before, behind a gushing breath, he hung his head. "Never say it," he mumbled to himself.
"Edward, are—"
His head snapped up again, his eyes bore into mine, and he echoed his father's words louder this time, as though cementing them. "Never say it, Bella!"
I nodded rapidly, my eyes darting between him and his father who remained in a defeated heap on the floor. Confusion and fear was continuing to overrun me, but it was more for Edward than myself. It was unfathomable to see his father in that condition, and Edward so...broken. It was also the first time he'd spoken my name in as long as I could remember.
"Do," I paused to swallow past the lump in my throat before I could continue, "...do you want me to get my dad?"
"What can he do?" he muttered darkly in accusation, and without another word, he turned and headed in the direction of his bedroom.
. . .
I bang on the front door, both palms flat to the timber and beginning to burn as I repeatedly slam it. It opens a minute later by a still half-asleep Edward. He runs his hand back through his already dishevelled hair, the smirk clearly growing across his face when it immediately falls.
"I-I remember!" I blurt out, shaking my head to myself because it still seems inconceivable to me that I could ever forget. "Edward, I—"
Before I can utter another word, Edward hooks his elbow around my neck and pulls me to him until my face is flush to his chest.
"I'm so sorry," I sob, curling my arms around his waist and holding him tightly to me.
"Didn't I tell you to stop apologising," he replies, his tone soft and afflicted. "You did nothing wrong."
"I know, but..." I shake my head again and abandon it. I'm not sure I can find words enough to explain my frayed emotions, or my newly recalled memories.
"Come on," he directs quietly, and releasing me, he grabs my hand and pulls me toward his room.
Edward..." I begin again, but he immediately interjects.
"Hang on." Turning, he locks his bedroom door, but when he meets my eyes again, he can't nearly conceal the emotions raging behind them. "See, I knew you remembered." He reaches out and clamps my nose, but with each second that passes his expression becomes even more overrun, and I can barely stand it.
I shake my head, pushing the multitude of emotions from my mind as I attempt to get my bearings. "It's not true, though. It isn't—"
"Bella," he complains, a frown immediately knotting his brow as he runs his palm to the back of his neck. "You know why I can't say it now, don't you?"
I nod, and reaching out, I grab his shirt in my fist, tugging him closer to me.
"Tell me. What do you remember?" he practically whispers, holding me at arm's length.
"Your-your dad was drunk, and he'd pulled all the photos off the wall..." I begin, when Edward hastily nods, appearing almost panicked.
"—Okay," he breaks in, his expression flooding with open pain, before he yanks me into his arms. "Just don't give me shit over it, Bell, okay?" he appeals to me, dropping his brow to my shoulder.
I turn my head, pressing my nose and lips into the side of his face as I feel myself steadily crumble. "Of course I won't."
"Bell..." he mumbles, more or less to himself, as he wraps his arms tighter around me.
In silence, he holds me, tense and straining, against him. It's beginning to absolutely shred me. I need to break him from it; to convince him his father's wrong.
"Edward?" I speak up softly, after a moment of working up the courage.
He only hums in reply.
"It's not true—what your dad said. It's okay to say it," I promise him with practically bated breath. "You've said it to me several times."
"What?" he asks unconvinced before pulling back to meet my eyes. "No, I haven't."
"You have," I insist, conscious to keep my voice responsive. "You have."
"When?" he asks, as that vulnerability he's so good at concealing creeps behind his eyes again.
"When you're drunk."
He scoffs to himself out of some kind of irony and practically rolls his eyes. "'Course I do."
"It's okay—"
"Bell..." he cuts me off, but abandoning it, he massages his heavy ridged brow.
"Maybe you just have to get used to saying it," I suggest, my voice continuing to waver, but my heart is breaking for him.
"I don't remember, and I don't get that wasted," he attempts to convince me, appearing confused, and otherwise ignoring me.
"You do," I state simply. "Alice has heard you." Okay, that's not exactly true, but I need a backup, and Alice is always happy to lie on cue for me.
His frown only deepens and he glances away, his mind blatantly ticking over, no doubt trying to find contradiction.
"Edward—"
"Maybe I do...need to practice," he admits, offering me an awkward, entirely-too-defenceless smile.
"You want to?" I ask, releasing his shirt to take his hand gently in mine.
He shrugs and severs my gaze again. It's a sure sign he's uncomfortable, because Edward has no qualms about staring deep in my eyes. Usually it's to mess with me, but still...So, needless to say, when he's avoiding my gaze it's stark.
"You don't have—"
"Okay," he suddenly decides even as his brow continues to knot, and reiterating it further, he pauses to rub it with rigid fingers. "I...I...l-love...Fuck..." he mutters, bowing his head and releasing his breath in defeat.
"Edward, you don't have..." I attempt to repeat when he cuts me off a second time.
"Is it really that important to you?" he practically pleads with me. I shake my head, but I'm lying and he knows it. So much so, he smirks and half-scoffs through his nose. "You're full of shit, boog."
I sigh heavily, because there's just no getting anything past him. "But it's okay," I continue to assure him, because it is. "You wanna just have our own word for it?" I propose, grabbing his other hand when he attempts another assault on his forehead. This behaviour isn't like him, and it only makes it that much worse to witness. It'd be selfish of me to expect him to keep everything buried behind that cagey grin of his, though.
"What word?" he asks after a moment.
I nudge him gently. "You're the one good at names, you think of it."
For all intents he contemplates it, and just as he opens his mouth to answer, he appears to second-guess himself. "Nah, it's...lame."
"Okay," I say softly, nodding once to further reiterate it.
"Jesus, you're not going to get all weepy over it, are you?" He's frustrated, but I know it's not at me.
I smile probably a little too tenderly. "Don't be a dork. I'll just get you drunk," I tease him in an effort to lighten the mood; it's really becoming painful.
"I'll...just—fuck..." He shakes his head, and pulling his hand free from mine, he props it into his palm and threads his fingers through the front of his hair. "I'm sorry, Bell."
"It's not your fault, and you're always telling me not to apologise," I joke, but my voice catches, all but giving me away. He's more upset by this than I thought, and it's really beginning to affect me.
He smiles to himself before raising his head and gazing at me squarely. "Yeah... Come here for a sec." Turning, he sits himself on the edge of his bed, and tugs me to him to follow. I plant myself beside him and rest my head on his shoulder. He responds by draping his arm around me, but by every definition of the word he's off. "How do I say it?—when I'm drunk, I mean," he asks after a moment, openly distracted.
"It's usually a contradiction. Like, you'll say, 'I know I don't say it, but you know I still love you, right?'." Glancing up at him, I break into a grin despite myself.
His immediately returns to the surface. He clamps my nose again, before as though conceding that it's all a front, he expels a momentous-sounding breath. "Yeah, that sounds like something I'd say."
I only smile, shrugging both shoulders futilely.
"Sorry, boog," he apologises again, gently tugging a strand of my hair, as that frown remains a fixture on his face.
"Yeah...and since when were we ever conventional, anyway..." I mumble more or less to myself.
"Hmm," he murmurs, turning his head to bury his nose and lips against the side of my head. "You know I'll always show it, right? Even when I'm an arsehole, I'll always let you—and everyone around me—know how I feel."
"I know," I whisper, before snapping myself hastily from all this melancholy. "Okay, enough of this heavy shit," I imitate one of his typical responses. "We gonna eat? ...Have sex?"
God knows, if anything can reverse Edward's mindset, it's those two things, and just as I expected, a shrewd smirk slowly brightens his expression.
"Both."
. . .
"You really don't expect to drag me around the streets looking at Christmas lights, do you?" he openly complains after moving in behind me to slip his index finger beneath the strap of my bra so it snaps back against my flesh.
We ate breakfast, and then had sex—in that order. With his father in the house. Edward just turned his music up and kept his door locked, and at that point, I would have stripped off in front of my parents if it made the light return to his eyes.
I understand it now; I understand him.
All his teasing and taunts, the shallow, wise-ass façade he likes to put on, and the reason he fears he'll only ever be able to have sex with me—it all makes sense. It was a wall, it is a wall—a barrier—to keep the pain of the past contained. It became his default setting, so much so that I completely forgot who he was beneath it. And me, who's connected to his past in a way that conflicts him. He kept me in his heart, even while a significant part of him wanted to put me on the other side of his wall.
He's struggling to separate the two; to freely open his heart to me the same way he has physically.
Beneath Edward's rough exterior, there's always been a seriousness, and even maturity about him that's been deliberately overshadowed. I'm connected to his worst childhood memory, and whether his method of torture over me was to prevent me from getting too close to him, to protect him from reliving moments he wants to keep in the past, or a habit of interacting with me while keeping his heart concealed, I'm not completely sure. What I am certain of is that his mother will always be a sensitive topic for him, and with me being so close, he could potentially do to me what his father is doing to him.
When he told me he's worried about turning into his father, I get it now. The day I called him a mummy's boy, and the kneejerk reaction he had that was so out of character for him; it all makes sense. It's not that he'll become his father, but that he'll grieve the same way his father has, with anger and resentment. Though, the fact that he so quickly pulled himself from it is proof he's aware of what he can become and he's fighting it.
The part of him that wants to hold onto us is winning
He was right all along, though. I never really forgot. It just got lost in a moment that we were all too young to fully grasp or process. But, unlike me, Edward's memories never faded or ran together with time. He remembers everything about me; all filed neatly away in that head of his.
Still, he'll always be a shithead.
I sigh, rolling my eyes simultaneously. "What do you want to do?"
"No idea, just not that," he replies, dropping his overly-heated lips momentarily to my shoulder. "I'm really glad you remembered, boog. It means I don't have to feel like such a cunt every time I don't say it."
I huff this time—he has such an eloquent way with words—and glance at him over my shoulder. "I really hate that word."
"What word?" he asks, tilting his head and failing to hold off the smirk.
I meet his eyes and my smile immediately mirrors his. "You never had to feel bad about it anyway," I reassure him, then just as I move to pull myself from his bed, he wraps his arms around my waist and rests his chin on my shoulder. "You okay...?" I ask after a moment when he doesn't release me, or say a word.
"I never...wanted to have to explain it to anyone, and you...you already knew." He buries his entire face against the curve of my neck this time as I feel my brow steadily furrow.
"Edward..." I begin, but quickly let it go, not sure where to begin.
Was it just easier for him to be with me given our history? It's not exactly a subject I can breach, though; it'll annoy him. He gets frustrated when I question his feelings for me. I can't exactly blame him, though.
He's right. My relationship with limp dick, as he likes to refer to Mike, had such a detrimental effect on me, and Edward shouldn't have to bear the consequences of it. Still, it was such a loaded statement...
I quickly make up my mind to push him and just as I open my mouth, and as though anticipating me, he quickly plants his lips to my temple, leaps from his bed and disappears behind his walk-in.
"Shut up for five minutes—jesus," he teases me from behind the door, and with an inward sigh, I again let it go. Edward's signals are overt. He's done; no more talking about it for today.
Or so I thought.
He caved on the Christmas lights, and just as twilight was setting in, we found ourselves strolling through the streets a few suburbs over with Jas, Alice, Emmett, Rosalie, and hundreds of locals.
We lost Rose and Emmett within the first ten minutes, while Alice and Jas went crazy taking selfies and photos with every single display. Edward and I, on the other hand, were happy walking at our own pace, falling further and further behind.
"If we ever get like that, shoot me," he murmurs lightly in my ear after Alice insisted she and Jas have photos with a homeowner who'd dressed as Santa and is handing lollipops out in his front yard.
Laughing softly, I nudge him teasingly with my shoulder. "We going to wait?"
The line's scores of people long; most are kids with their parents.
"Fuck that, they can find us later." Grabbing my hand, he pulls me further down the street where the crowds are thinning out. "You feel better?" he asks, breaking a long stretch of silence as he led us away from the traffic of pedestrians and the thousands of twinkling lights toward a small park obscured from the road.
"I'm relieved, more than anything," I confess without needing him to explain his meaning. "I feel terrible for forgetting it."
"You didn't forget," he reminds me, and releasing my hand, he drapes his arm around my shoulders.
"Yeah..." I murmur, leaning further against him.
"I'll try again later," he decides after falling quiet again for the longest moment.
"Try again?" I question, turning to glance up at him.
"To say it," he says simply, when I know it's everything but simple.
"Edward—"
"You're right. I probably just need to realise my dick won't fall off if I say it," he mutters, half rolling his eyes to himself.
I smile; I can't help it. "Among other things."
"Stop that." Tightening his elbow around my neck, he squeezes me. "Pain in the neck."
"Would you stop manhandling me?" I shove him from me, but it's the perfect opportunity to bring up what he said this morning. It still takes me a good five minutes to work myself into it, though, and by that time, Edward has caught on.
"What are you getting bent out of shape for now?" He clamps my nose, gentler than he usually does, and I realise it's become a mode of affection for him.
"I want...you to explain what you said to me earlier," I brave, steadfastly avoiding his gaze this time.
"What I said earlier..." he says in echo. "Hmm." Untangling his arm from around me, he sits himself down on a timber bench in the abandoned park, and turns to look up at me with a smirk.
"What...?" I ask dubiously.
"Would you sit the fuck down?" Grabbing my hand, he pulls me beside him. "What did you think I meant?" he puts to me, and this time when I peek at him he arches a pointed brow.
"I... I don't know," I concede, expelling a weary breath and staring down at the darkened ground.
"Jesus, you're a pain in the neck." Grabbing both my hands, he attempts to angle me toward him. "What the hell are you looking at?—would you look at me?" I do, and for a moment he only gauges me. "I know you, you pain in the arse. You think I'm an arsehole again, don't you?"
"No!" I insist vehemently. "I just...it was so out of the ordinary for you."
He almost groans to himself before lightly shaking his head. "I meant it was always going to be hard for me, but at least with you, it'll be a bit easier." He shrugs, conveying how innocent it was, and I break into a culpable smile.
"Oh..."
"Happy?" He tugs a strand of my hair, and moves it beneath my nose like a moustache. Something he finds highly amusing.
His smile is infectious, and mine quickly follows. "Stop teasing me."
He kisses me, tenderly but briefly, and again when he pulls back, he practically groans. Louder this time.
"What?"
"Am I ever not going to talk in circles with you?" And while I know he's only teasing me, a discernible part of him isn't.
"I know," I admit ashamedly. "You're right—"
"Yeah, I know," he teases.
With a short rueful sigh, I elbow him. "About Mike, I mean. I don't know what I was ever doing with him..." I don't elaborate, and it's not exactly something I really want to delve into on top of everything else right now.
"Yeah, well, I can't really talk. I was with Lauren for almost two years," he replies, snorting to himself, and taking me by surprise; it was exactly opposite of what I expected.
"Yeah, but..." I pause, and with my confusion obvious, his grin steadily returns until he's pushing his laughter through his nose.
"Why is that funny?" I ask, tilting my head, curious.
"The two of us, boog." Wrapping his arm around me again, he pulls me flush against his side. "We're both fucking idiots."
"Well...not anymore," I say wryly, leaning my head on his shoulder and snaking my arm around his waist.
He presses his lips to the side of my face, even as his breath washes over me in silent laughter. "I'm probably going to repeat myself with you for the rest of my life, but..."
"But?" I softly echo.
"Fuck it," he murmurs, his voice softening.
"Hmm?"
"What?" he questions, and he's lost me again like he so often does.
I shake my head and turn back toward the street and the hundreds of people walking past on a quest for brighter festivities
"Hey?" he breaks the short silence that fell over us.
"Yeah?"
"Bell, look at me." He's serious I realise, and I immediately comply.
"I-I l-love-you," he practically strangles out, before he tears his gaze from mine and scowls. "Well, that was shit." He huffs.
"But you said it," I point out, breaking into an enormous grin and flooding with affection for him, "and I love you, too," I add, kissing his cheek impulsively.
"It was still shit, but the world didn't fucking end," he grumbles, even as an ironic smile twitches on his lips.
"You don't have to force yourself. If it makes you uncomfortable—"
"Nah, it's...I need to get past it. It's...fucking ridiculous." He casts his eyes around the park as frustration overruns him again.
"No, it isn't," I assure him softly.
"It was easier with her," he says, sounding as though he's becoming lost in his thoughts again.
"Her?" I ask, despite having a fair idea who he's referring to.
"Lauren," he clarifies, and when I nod, he continues. "I never had any intentions of saying it, and I didn't give a shit that it pissed her off." He scoffs and a smirk passes fleetingly on his lips. "But with you, Bell," his gaze returns to mine and he breaks into that vulnerable smile I'm fast becoming familiar with, "I want to say it."
A/N: Let me know. Yay or nay?
