A/N
Happy Saturday!
Massive thank you to Lizzie and Meg for pre-reading, and Fran for beta'ing.
And to you guys, who continue to read this babble of mine.
Enjoy!
EPOV
I hate arriving anywhere first, but I was so fucking nervous that I had to leave my apartment before I tore the walls down.
I've never done this before; my hands are shaking, and my palms are … sweating like a whore in church.
Bella texted me a few minutes ago, assuring me they were in their way, and I'm sitting at this table—set for four—looking like a total ass. Every minute feels like an hour, the seconds ticking by so slowly I swear I can hear them.
The waitress smiles wide as she approaches, catching my attention, coming to a stop, and asking me if I'd like a drink. Her voice is breathy, almost squeaky, and I hate it. What I really want is a double scotch on the rocks, but I decide a Coke is probably a better idea.
My clothes are too suffocating, my shirt collar tightening by the minute; I try to loosen it as she walks away, running my finger between my neck and the collar.
Why am I here? Why did I insist on this?
And then I'm thinking about Bella; how her beautiful, angelic face lit up when I suggested dinner with her parents.
Her.
I'm doing this for her; to prove I'm not a complete dick, and I'm capable of this, of … us.
I startle when I feel a hand on my shoulder, looking up quickly to see Bella standing there, looking concerned. Pushing my chair back, I stand, trying to return her smile, probably failing miserably.
"Hey," she says softly, trying to reassure me with a squeeze of my hand. I swallow hard and look up, right into the eyes of her dad, standing behind her protectively.
He's shorter than me, rounder, but hardly frail. Everything about him screams "cop," and I can tell straight off that he's unimpressed with this situation.
"Dad," Bella says, turning to him. "This is Edward. Edward, this is my dad, Charlie."
"Mr. Swan, to you," he corrects, nodding once and holding out his hand. I oblige, shaking his outstretched hand, trying my hardest to scan my memory for any advice on the correct etiquette, because I think I'm about to pass out.
"And this is my mom, Renee," she continues, motioning towards the woman who stands at Mr. Swan's side. She's so like Bella, only older—fucking obviously. Her smile is kind as she offers me her hand.
"It's nice to finally meet you, Edward," she says. I smile again—it probably looks like I'm having a stroke—shaking her hand.
I motion towards the table, and everyone takes a seat, the silence around us awkward and strained. My body screams at me to run and run fast, but Bella's hand on my knee grounds me, calming me a little.
Clearing my throat, I look around at the faces surrounding me, trying to find my voice.
"I need to apologize," I start, "for last time, for …"
"Not showing up?" Mr. Swan scoffs. "Real nice of you, son."
I nod, pursing my lips, because what else can I do? I'm just gonna sit here and take his scorn like a man … a silent man.
I don't trust my own voice in these situations; it's one of the many reasons I avoid them. I mean, I smoke, I'm a fucking rogue who fights for money and whores himself out to photographers on the side. I'm a delinquent, and this restaurant—this family—this girl, who looks at me like the sun shines out of my ass … They're terrifying; they're everything I don't know.
I'm out of my element, and I hate that. But I don't have much in life, and that same girl is something I cherish with all I am; so here I sit, feeling like I need to throw up.
Or run.
I was never taught table manners or the polite way to interact with strangers—I learned what I know from myself, with help from Carl and Tony. I'm not a functioning member of society in many aspects, and I've done well avoiding such things as this for so long.
Until Bella.
"Dad," Bella warns silently.
"It's okay," I tell her silently, looking at her briefly. "I deserved that."
The waitress arrives, and I breathe a sigh of relief, resisting the urge to thank her … and God for the short reprieve.
Bella's mom orders a bottle of wine, asking my preference, but I have no fucking idea what she's talking about—the names are all French, and truthfully, I really don't care. I won't drink it anyway.
"So," Renee starts, looking at me from across the table and smiling. "Bella says you're an artist?"
I furrow my brows, looking at Bella briefly. She's biting her lip, looking nervous—it doesn't fill me with confidence.
"I am, I guess … I mean, yeah."
"What kind of art?" Mr. Swan asks.
Shit. Code red.
"Um …" Think fast, Edward, you fucking idiot. "Fine art," I say, too quickly to be believable. "I like sketching."
"Half expected you to say graffiti," Mr. Swan huffs. Bella's whole body stiffens beside me, her grip on my knee tightening.
I'm not gonna lie—that's not my style, so I say nothing.
"I don't know; there are some masterpieces out there, painted on the sides of buildings," Renee muses, looking around the table.
This is a little too close to home. I send a pleading look to Bella, whose eyes are just as wide as mine probably are.
"Are you ready to order?"
I look up, and for the second time tonight, this waitress has saved my ass. I want to jump up from my seat and hug her, but that would be inappropriate—and I'm not much of a hugger.
She's looking at me, and only me; it's uncomfortable. Bella growls, and I almost laugh, turning to face her, my smile wide. Shit, she's even hotter when she's possessive. Renee does laugh, raising an eyebrow at Bella, whose only response is to roll her eyes.
Orders placed, that suffocating silence descends once more, tension rolling off Bella's dad in waves. This is why I don't do shit like this. I panicked and don't even remember what I ordered from the menu. Anxiety grips at me, my fingers itching, my palms sweating, and my jaw aching. I don't know where to look or what to say—no one seems to, and that makes everything infinitely worse.
"So," Mr. Swan starts, looking straight at me—through me. "What do you do for a living?"
Good fucking question. I don't think he's the kinda guy to settle for an answer as mediocre as 'this and that.'
Thankfully, Bella knows the right answer. "Edward's a model," she answers, and though I'm embarrassed, I want to kiss the heck out of her. I was too caught up worrying about fighting for cash and vandalizing prominent buildings to think straight.
Renee nods as though she knows, and Mr. Swan smirks, his eyes ridiculing. Part of me wants to wipe that fucking smirk straight off his face, but I'm kinda crazy about his daughter, so I stay silent, holding his stare unflinchingly.
When the food arrives, it's the perfect excuse not to engage anyone, but instantly, I miss Bella's hand on my knee, reassurance leaving and cold settling in its place.
I hate it.
My food is … I have no idea; pasta with a red sauce. It's tasty, but my appetite is gone, and I don't even want to look at it.
"Are you okay?" Bella leans over to ask, whispering in my ear. I nod and send her a tight smile. She's not buying it, but what can she do? We're stuck here.
Renee engages me in small talk, asking about my modeling "career." I indulge her, answering what questions I can, as honestly as I can; but the whole time, I can feel Mr. Swan's calculating gaze on me, and I wonder how long it'll be before he forbids Bella from seeing me. She'll be leaving for college soon, so I want to roll my eyes and tell him to stop worrying—he's going to give himself a fucking aneurysm if he keeps this up.
He asks Bella about school, and the Youth Center, making me feel like shit because I never ask her about school. I don't know what her favorite subject is or what she wants to major in at college. All I know is that she dreams of Harvard. She knows so much more about me than I do about her because … I've never asked. I don't really know who she is, deep down. But she knows who I am because she takes a damn interest below the surface and cares.
"Excuse me," I say, standing suddenly. "I'll just be a second."
In the solitude of the restrooms, I take a deep breath and brace my hands on the counter, looking at myself in the mirror. "You're the worst," I growl to myself, shaking my head and releasing a long breath through my nose. "Fuck."
For a long time, I stare at my pale reflection, hating myself, feeling as though I have so much I need to do, so much I need to change. I thought this evening was the perfect way to show her I cared, but is it? Really? All I needed to do is talk to her … really talk. And I've never done that before, not with her as the subject. I know she cares about me because she shows me in everything she does, and I haven't been returning that. If I had, maybe she wouldn't have been so upset when I didn't reach out to communicate every day or when I didn't turn up to dinner last time; she wouldn't have been so upset because she'd know.
I've given her nothing to go on, not in relation to how I feel about her.
The realization makes my stomach churn, the oil from the few measly bites of pasta heavy and thick on my tongue.
How do you know? How does anyone know that someone else cares about them? I've never had to think about it before. I've never … loved anyone before—not like I love Bella, and at every turn, I'm fucking it up.
Suddenly, I'm too warm, and my heart is thudding too heavily, my pulse loud in my ear.
A man walks in and looks at me warily, bringing me back down to earth. He enters a stall, and I take a deep breath, steeling myself and heading back in the direction of our table.
"Sorry," I say as I take my seat. Mr. Swan snorts.
"Surprised you came back."
I ignore him, focusing instead on Bella's beautiful face and the glare she's sending her dad. I want to laugh, but I squeeze her knee reassuringly instead, returning her earlier favor. "It's okay," I say, lightly kissing her hair. "Chill."
Renee's watching us, a soft smile on her lips, eyes bright and sparkling—so like Bella's.
"Anyone for dessert?" she asks as our plates are removed from the table, mine hardly touched.
Bella's shaking her head. "No, I think we'll head out now."
"You're still grounded," Mr. Swan barks, making Bella freeze in her seat and huff.
"Charlie," Renee warns softly. "Let her go."
They start to bicker back and forth, but I tune them out, turning to Bella. "You okay?" she asks.
I nod. "Yeah. But … I'd really like to get out of here. With you."
She smiles, her hand holding mine tightly. "Give my mom a moment." She winks and motions with her head towards her parents.
Five tentative minutes later, Bella and I are practically running from the restaurant after awkward goodbyes and a minor argument when I offered to pay our bill. Renee refused, waving me off, and Mr. Swan argued with her, more than happy for me to settle the check.
Renee won. Like always, apparently.
For a long time, we walk silently, side by side, neither of us stopping until we're back in the relative safety of Lincoln Park.
"Fuck," I groan, throwing myself onto an iron bench. Bella remains standing, watching me closely, a soft, tentative smile on her face. "I fucked that up, didn't I?"
She shakes her head, taking a slow step forward. "Not at all."
"Don't lie," I snap, instantly regretting my harsh tone and flinching. "Sorry."
"It's okay."
"No, it's not." I throw my hands up, letting them fall heavily back into my lap, scoffing at myself. "It's not okay. None of it is okay …"
She stays silent, a few steps away, but now she's looking at her feet, and I hate that. I really fucking hate that.
"I'm sorry," she says eventually. "I shouldn't have made you feel like you needed to do that."
I scowl, shaking my head. Is she for real? It was my idea. It was my flawed personality that made dinner more awkward than it needed to be. It was my shortcomings that made her dad Instantly hate me. This is on me; all our hurdles are.
"Yeah, well … it's about damn time I did something for you." She's confused, looking up at me with those brown eyes I want to disappear in, those eyes that make me forget myself and my worries for a while. "I'm an asshole," I tell her truthfully. She opens her mouth to argue, but I warn her silently with a look, and she closes her mouth again, pursing her lips as though it's difficult for her to keep quiet. "What's your favorite color?" I ask.
"What?"
"What's your favorite color?" I ask her again, slowly. "What do you want to study at college?"
Her brows furrow. "I don't understand."
"And isn't that tragic?" I laugh, but it's bitter—scathing. "When I ask you about yourself, your first reaction is confusion because I never fucking ask. I never take any interest in you. Who you are …"
"What are you doing?"
Her pleading tone breaks my heart and makes me want to scream. Her eyes plead, so open and soulful, so deep and innocent. She wears her heart on her sleeve and makes no apologies for doing so. But I'm trampling her; I'm fucking snuffing the life out of that heart she has so openly offered me. And I'm not doing it in one strong blow—no. I'm doing it slowly, vindictively; it's cruel.
"Can't you see?" I ask her, nothing but desperation left in my tone. "Can't you see what I'm doing? What I've done?"
She shakes her head, her eyes watering, panic setting in. I want to run to her and hug her, take her home and kiss her … everywhere.
"You know almost everything about me," I continue. "But I know nothing about you. And that's not because you're secretive or guarded; it's because I've never even bothered to ask you."
"So ask me," she cries desperately, her voice cracking, my heart mirroring it. "Ask me what you want to know, and I'll tell you!"
"It's a bit late, don't you think?"
"What are you saying, Edward?"
A lone tear escapes her eye. I watch it leave a trail down her flushed cheek. "I don't know." I sigh, shrugging one shoulder.
"You want to break up with me?" She asks, another tear escaping, but she's fighting to stay strong, which makes me hurt more. "You want to end this because … what? Because my dad was an ass to you? Because you don't feel like you fit in with my family? Is that what matters to you?"
"It's what matters to you!"
"It's not!" she shouts back, a few people around us turn to look, but Bella doesn't care. I don't either; they're the least of my worries right now. "You're what matters to me," she growls, her voice quieter but still forceful. "All I want is your happiness. I don't care that my dad doesn't like you because he'll get over it; he'll need to."
"All you want is my happiness?" I ask incredulously. "Don't you see how fucked up that is? That's your family." I point in the general direction of the restaurant we just left.
"And I love them, but I love you too!" Her eyes widen, her words taking both of us by surprise. For a moment, the world is silent, eerily still. She collects herself and sighs before saying, "So you'll all just need to … learn to deal."
I can't speak, but my heart is thudding so hard I need to rub my chest. Swallowing hard, I grasp at something to say, anything to make this make sense.
She looks worried, biting into her bottom lip, her eyes still pooled with moisture threatening to spill over.
"You mean that?" I finally manage to say, my voice cracking under the strain of emotions I can't name but can feel. She nods but can't look directly at me, and suddenly, I'm feeling everything all at once, an aggressive wave of overwhelming enormity I can't run from.
I've never heard those words spoken to me by people I hold dear—not my mom or dad. The only person who's ever said such a thing is Victoria, and I take everything she says with a pinch of salt—but hearing those words from Bella? Shit, I can't think straight, but I can feel, and at this moment, I think that's what matters most.
On shaky legs, I stand, and in two long strides, I'm in front of her, holding her face, pleading, begging her. "Say it again."
She takes a deep, staggered breath and meets my eyes. "I love you," she says with such sincerity that I have no other option but to believe her.
"Fuck." And then I'm kissing her, pouring everything I have into it, screaming at her with my actions, gripping her so tightly I fear I might bruise her. But I can't stop, I can't breathe, I have no brakes, and I'm not even trying to stop.
I can't.
She whimpers and grips my jacket, pulling me closer, never close enough. "I love you too," I tell her, breaking away for a moment, kissing her again before she can reply; but I feel her, I feel her sob and the way she pulls at me, holding on just as tightly as I'm holding her, the world around us long forgotten. Everything's forgotten because I've never said those words before, ever, not even when they weren't true or when I felt like I had to.
I've never said them, but I mean them. Right now. I mean them more than I've ever meant anything, more than I ever want to.
She's my flame, my inferno, and I can't get close enough.
A/N
Um ... so yeah, that happened.
Can't wait to hear what you all think!
I'm going to beg for your patience on the next chapter. I'm currently on my third draft of it and can't seem to get it right. I promise, I'll get it posted as soon as I can, but there may not be an update next week. Bear with me, please.
Thank you so much for reading!