Happy Friday!
Huge thanks to Hadley and Rahnnie for their endless help!
I was able to write the last chapter of this today (which will be chapter 40), so I'm all up in my feels. Only have the epilogue left to write *cries*
As always, thanks for reading and for the thoughtful reviews ;) see you next week.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The relief I feel when I wake up and see Edward in bed next to me is enough to make me cry. I don't, though. I stay silent, just lying there and watching him. Staring at his chapped lips. His furrowed brows. Even in his sleep, he looks worried and on edge, like he still has so much weighing on him.
I want to kiss him awake. I want to take away his worry. I want to talk more about… everything. His time in the wilds, every moment he remembers about us. But I know he's exhausted and needs to rest. So, I just revel in the comfort of having him here at all.
My head still feels heavy, almost foggy, after everything we talked about. After all the truths Edward offered. Maybe I should feel lighter, having all of the pieces of my story finally in place, but I don't. Every single truth weighed me down and tore at my heart. If the guilt on his face when he confessed Emmett didn't survive is any indication, his heart has been fractured too. I hate that for him, and I hate that he feels like it was his fault because it wasn't. He's done the best he can in a world that causes pain and suffering. He's good and pure, and I'm so proud of him. I won't let him believe that one action, which wasn't even of his own volition, defines his character because it doesn't.
I can't say the same for my parents, though. One action does, and forever will, define them. One action has stripped them of their humanity and has eliminated any respect I still had for them. One thoughtless and heartless action has completely and irrevocably changed my future. I will never understand them or forgive them. I will never heal from what they did to me.
When I think about it all now, resentment and devastation wells in my chest. I don't even have the full memory, not like Edward does. Just faceless snippets from the night they forced us. I feel like I was in shock when he first revealed what they did. Because it is shocking. All of it. I'm crying then, silent tears trickling down my cheeks while trying not to wake Edward.
As much as I want to act out now and confront my parents, I know it won't do any good. I need to be smart and bide my time. I can't let their decisions for control and power further weigh me down. I can't wallow in it, or let it take me under. I need to use this anger now to be strong.
Edward stirs, and his eyes blink a few times before they finally open. He smiles sleepily at me, and any stress that was on his face is gone. For a moment, he looks like the Edward I knew before he left. Smug, but in the most charming and playful way. Not the tortured, weary man who showed up on my porch last night. Not the heartbroken man who was crying in my bed hours ago.
"Morning." His smirk fades when he takes in my expression, maybe noticing I'd been crying. "Hey… what's wrong?" I feel his hand under the comforter reaching for my hip before he pulls me closer to him.
"Nothing." I try for a smile, but it feels sad and forced. "Everything? I'm just thinking about everything we talked about. It's all so… it doesn't feel real. I don't know."
"Bella…"
"It's a lot. It will always be a lot. I'm glad I know everything now. But… we can just…" I know we can't necessarily move on from this, but there are so many other things I want to do and share with him. I don't want to spend what little time we have together only remembering the heartbreak we've been through. "Did you sleep okay?"
He hesitates before answering, like he isn't sure we should move on from this subject. "I slept better than I have in a while," he finally says.
My smile doesn't feel forced now or even the tiniest bit sad. "Me too."
Pepper appears at the foot of the bed, yowling, and Edward laughs.
"I need to feed her, but… don't move? Please?"
His smile is soft, and it makes my stomach flicker with want.
"I'm not going anywhere," he says quietly.
I leave the bed and quickly feed Pepper, then I make sure the doors are all still locked, and the curtains are drawn. Luckily, I don't have anywhere to be today, but that doesn't mean someone won't show up.
If anyone knew Edward was here, the consequences for harboring a fugitive would be enough to lock me away. Throw in the fact that we've kissed and now slept in the same bed when I've been placed with someone else… not to mention, all of the other things I'm desperately dying to do with him. I'm screwed.
This must be what Emmett and Rose went through. The secrets, the hiding. The willingness to break the law over and over again to be intimate with each other. I understand now. The outcome heavily outweighs the consequences, though. I would never deny myself being with him, especially not after everything we've been through to make it back here again.
I crawl back into bed, and Edward scrubs a hand over his face, fighting a yawn. I'm nervous, but he seems to feel that way too.
"Are you hungry?" I ask. "I can make us something. Or…"
He shifts to sit up against the headboard, the hood of his sweatshirt bunched up behind his neck. He looks so cute like this—warm and disheveled and sleepy.
"I could eat," he replies with a shrug.
"Me too. Any requests? I guess I don't know what you like."
He thinks about this, his eyes landing on mine. "We could make your favorite… french toast?"
He's right. It is my favorite. It's a stupid, small detail, but it makes me smile. It also makes me yearn for the moments between us I'll never be able to recall. I wonder what we used to be like. I wonder if it was always easy and if we were happy. Even in comparison to just a few months ago, we're both so different. We're both these numb and broken versions of ourselves now. But I want to get to know him again. Fully. I want to love and take care of him. I want to be with him.
Sensing my anxiety, he reaches for my hand and entwines our fingers. I stare at our clasped hands and his thumb brushing over my skin. It's intimate. Tender. My heart stutters when he brings my hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to the inside of my palm. It makes me burn. I stare at his lips, loving the way he presses another kiss to the inside of my wrist.
"Is this weird?" he wonders. His breath fans out over my skin, but his eyes are on me.
"Not weird."
"I miss being able to touch you whenever I want. You have no idea how hard it was." He releases a breathy laugh. "The night of the snowstorm? That night in my bed? When we…" He trails off, but that's one moment I actually remember. It's what got me through some nights when he was gone. It's what I thought of when I touched myself. My throat goes dry, but I don't tell him this.
"Yeah." I hadn't thought about that aspect yet. If he remembers everything, he remembers… everything. "So, before had we… I mean, did we have sex?"
I watch him swallow, his face turning serious. "All the time."
"Oh." My face feels flushed, and he smiles a little. It's sincere though.
"Don't be embarrassed. You can ask me anything, and I'll tell you."
"Were we good?" I ask, aching between my legs. "Was I… did I make you feel good?"
"You were the best, and yes, you always made me feel good."
"The best? Shut up," I laugh, breaking the sexual tension, pushing flirtatiously at his chest. "You have to say that because I don't remember."
"I mean it," he says, face and voice earnest. "We were so good together. Still are, I bet."
I glance away from him, but before I can ask him anything else, he has a question of his own.
"I don't want to ask, but it's kind of been killing me," he prompts, looking a little uncomfortable.
"Okay."
He waits a beat, then says, "It's about you and James."
"Oh." I think I know where this is going.
"You don't have to answer if you don't want to, but have you two… been together?"
"No. Not even close." I frown. "We haven't even slept in the same bed."
I can feel some of the tension roll off of him. "You haven't kissed or anything?"
My mind wanders back to a couple of weeks ago when we were initially placed. We did kiss. It was a peck, though, not even a real kiss. It was expected, and it was in front of our families. It's not like it was intimate or meant anything. But the one after that, later that night, definitely didn't need to happen. I didn't necessarily kiss him back, but I didn't push him away either. I kind of just let it happen, and I felt nothing. Less than nothing. It was honestly very depressing.
"We've kissed." Edward's jaw tenses when I say it, but he stays silent. "It wasn't anything, though. It was only twice. And one of them was because we kind of had to—"
"I don't need the details."
Uncertainty flares in my chest, but I get it. I'd be angry, too, imagining him with anyone else, which leads me to my own question.
"Have you?" I ask, leaving the question open for him to interpret however he wants.
His laugh is short, almost bitter. "No. I wasn't in any position to be intimate with anyone. And even if I were, I wouldn't want to. You were all I thought about."
"Okay." Relief fills my chest, but his expression falters for a second before turning glum. "What?"
"If we're being honest, there was one thing. Just a kiss, and it wasn't even…" he hesitates, watching me carefully. "I just want you to know I didn't initiate it."
"Who was it?" I ask, as if I'll know the person he's talking about. The longer he stays silent, the more my curiosity grows. "It happened while you were out in the unincorporated land?"
"Yes, but… I don't, uh..." he trails off, grimacing.
"Who was it?" The longer he stays silent, the more I realize why. "Was it Rose?" I ask, more of a guess than anything. I hope to God I'm wrong. I really do. But then his face confirms it all.
"It was Rose."
Betrayal sinks in as I imagine my best friend kissing Edward.
"Why did she think she could do that?" I ask, the accusation clear in my tone that he might've given her a reason to think she could.
"It was… I don't know. It was definitely a mistake. She'd been kind of depressed out there, and I think being alone was taking a toll on her."
"I've been alone. I've been depressed," I mutter, my eyes burning. "Tell me how it happened. I want to know." Unlike him, I want the details. I need them.
He starts from the beginning, how much he and Rose leaned on each other after everything. How she stayed by his bedside, uncertain that he'd make it. After he was in the clear, she relied heavily on him. He explains how her knowledge from working at the clinic helped with his recovery. And I'm grateful for that. I really, really am. A weird part of me is relieved they had each other. I've been lonely for months, so it makes me soften knowing they weren't alone. But also knowing it could've been more on Rose's part makes me feel sick.
When I've heard enough about why, I want to know the how. As he explains it, I can see it all. The two of them on a walk. Her concern over his safety and his desire to leave. And then her tears. His comfort. When he mumbles out the part where they're hugging and she kisses him, I tell him to stop. I've heard enough.
"I didn't kiss her back," he says firmly. "I want you to know that."
My stomach twists, ugly and angry. "Did she think if she came onto you that you would have changed your mind and stayed with her?"
"I don't know. Maybe in that moment? I don't think she was thinking clearly."
"Did she ask you to stay?" I don't know why I need to know. I just do.
"Yes, she did. But honestly, when we talked later, she admitted it wasn't that she wanted me. She was just scared and clinging to me for support. For normalcy and comfort."
I understand what he's saying. In a strange way, it makes sense. I don't even know if I can hate her for it, either. I really, really want to, but I just… can't. That doesn't lessen the sting of betrayal, though. Especially knowing she cared for him and looked after him. Then after he was healed, assuming that he'd be grateful enough to stay behind and be with her. Like he owed her something. It feels more intimate than anything with me and James. Imagining them locked away together, day after day, while he was desperate for her help. He might not have wanted her, but he needed her.
"What else do you wanna know? I'll tell you anything," he says softly.
"Zero part of you wanted her?" This is important. I need to know where his head was at. If he liked kissing her. If even a tiny part of him wanted to stay behind.
"Zero," he says with undeniable certainty.
"Okay." My head and emotions feel all over the place. " I don't want to think about this anymore." I leave the bed and end the conversation, desperate to move on. "Let's eat."
I don't wait for him to follow behind me before I move through the house. I go to the laundry room and grab his clothes out of the dryer, then I toss them on the bed where he still is.
"Hey," he blurts, demanding my attention.
"What?" I look at him. "I don't want to hear any more. It's fine. I've heard enough."
"I know it's not fine. I know that face and the way you go quiet. I know how you get when you're upset. So, please don't lie to me. I wanted to be honest. It was important to us that you know. She wanted me to be honest, too."
He refers to him and Rose as an us, and the jealousy I'd been trying to push down surfaces.
With my arms over my chest I say, "Okay. Fine. I'm upset, obviously, and I don't know what to think. I'm confused. On one hand, I'm fucking pissed. I can't believe her. And on the other, I'm oddly grateful you were there for one another." He nods, understanding. "But she kissed you," I mumble, my eyes stinging. "You were mine. She knew that. She wanted you to just… forget about me? She didn't care?"
"She did care. She felt awful. I feel awful that it even happened, too." He stands then, close enough to touch me but keeping his hands to himself. "You were on my mind the entire time. Thinking about you got me through. Everything I've done… it was all for you."
His words settle me more than I thought possible. Maybe this had nothing to do with me. Maybe Rose wasn't purposely trying to hurt me. I try to imagine myself in her position: pregnant, mourning, and forced into living a new, unknown life. I might've acted out, too. I might've grasped onto any sort of normalcy I could as well. Again, it doesn't make me hurt any less, it just makes it easier to understand.
"If it makes you feel any better, I'm hurt, too. It fucking breaks my heart that you're with James," he mumbles, throat bobbing as he swallows.
"No," I reply, reaching out for him. "That makes me feel worse. I don't want you to hurt. He wasn't my choice. None of this was."
"I don't want you to hurt, either," he says gently, soothing hands rubbing up and down my arms. "The thing with Rose was nothing. Okay?"
Our words hang in the air, our mutual pain forcing us to a standstill. Because neither of us is right or wrong in the way we feel. It's a shitty situation overall, and we both did the best we could with the situations we were given. Yes, we both kissed other people. But they weren't who we wanted. And it'd be unfair to either of us to take it out on the other for things out of our control.
My eyes fill with tears, blurring his beautiful face.
"Baby, don't cry," he mumbles, swallowing thickly. "Please." My chin trembles, but I try to hold back. "Just…" He sighs, staring down at me. "Tell me we'll move past this? All of this?"
"Of course we will," I say, swallowing back my emotion. Letting this come between us isn't even an option.
We move closer until we're clutching at each other. I let him hold me, wrapping my own arms around his waist. With my head tucked under his chin, we stay like that for a moment. It's the same way we held each other in the shower last night, but there's a different kind of pain this time. It has the potential to be toxic and resentful. But neither of us deserve that.
"My head is all over the place, too," he says against my hair. "I know you didn't have a say. It just fucking pisses me off that you have to keep pretending with James until we can get out of here. But I know it has to happen because that's what it's gonna take. And I have to fucking deal with it."
"I mean, I'll pretend, but nothing intimate is going to happen with him. I don't want it, and I know he won't push for that."
"He fucking better not," he says darkly.
"He won't." I look up at him. "I already told you, I'm legally his, but I'm yours in every other way imaginable."
With his finger under my jaw, he tilts my chin upward and brings my mouth to his.
"Say it again," he murmurs, not quite touching my lips.
"I'm yours," I say breathlessly.
He's all I want. All I've wanted, and for months, I dreamed of him coming back and being mine. I just hate that this moment has been overshadowed by jealousy.
I stand on my tiptoes to kiss him. It's chaste at first—an apology of sorts. It doesn't take long before our kiss turns hot. Insistent. His hands cup my ass, pulling me to him, pressing me against the bulge in his boxers. Like we can't be close enough. We kiss until I'm desperate and dizzy and burning for him. We kiss until it becomes too much, and we need more.
We pull back, staring at one another. My lips are tingling from his beard, and he smiles a little.
"What?" I whisper.
"I've missed that look you're giving me. Like you want me so fucking bad."
"I do," I say honestly. "It's like, even though I don't remember, my body does."
"I could help you remember," he says gently.
"How?"
"I could show you what you like? What I remember."
My heart is pounding wildly. "Okay."
I wait for him to make the next move, wanting to follow his lead.
"Take off your clothes," he whispers, and I step out of my shorts and pull my shirt over my head. His eyes are immediately on my breasts, and he hooks a finger around the waist of my underwear. He doesn't take them off, though. "Lie on the bed."
I lie back, my chest heaving. I'm suddenly nervous. Not enough to not want this, but just enough to second-guess if it'll be the same as before. It'll be the first time for me, essentially, but not for him. He'll have all of our other times to compare this to. I just want it to be good. Better than good. I want it to be perfect.
He hovers over me, calming my nerves. He kisses my mouth, my neck, my chest. He kisses his way down my body until his knees are on the floor, and he's pulling me to the edge of the mattress, his head between my legs.
"I remember every little sound you'd make," he murmurs, breath fanning out across where I'm aching most. "I'm gonna put my mouth on you. Is that okay?"
All I can do is nod.
He slowly, deliberately, pulls my underwear down my legs until I'm lying there naked.
"Fuck," he breathes out. Almost like he's nervous now, too.
I stare up at the ceiling, waiting. Holding my breath. I'm about to sit up and look at him when I feel his hot mouth on me.
"Oh," I breathe out.
"Open your legs wider, baby."
I let my knees fall open a little more, and the sensation of his mouth and his beard and his tongue sets me on fire. My skin flushes, my insides melt.
Just when I think it's enough to push me over the edge, he slides a finger inside of me, and I moan out loud when he sucks on my clit. His mouth stays there while his fingers move in and out of me. It's too much. It's too good. It's like nothing I've ever felt, but that's the thing. I'm sure he's done this before. Imagining us doing this all the time like he said makes me come undone. I shudder and pant, stomach clenching and blooming with pleasure, as I come against his mouth.
I catch my breath and blink my eyes open, on the verge of laughing because it was too good. When he moves to lie next to me, I cover my face with a pillow.
"What?" he laughs, pulling the pillow away and kissing my bare shoulder. "That bad?"
"Whatever. No. That good." I playfully shove at his chest, and he laughs again. "What the fuck?" I ask in disbelief.
My body still feels like jelly, and he kisses me, his hand on the side of my neck, his thumb caressing my cheek.
"I told you," he says against my mouth. "I know what you like and how you like it."
"I wish I knew what you liked," I whisper, sliding my hand down the front of his boxers. He's hard and smooth, and his mouth parts when I stroke him.
"Pretty sure whatever you do is going to be perfect," he says with an embarrassed grin. "It won't take much. I mean, that is, if you want to do other things."
"My hand is in your pants," I tease. "It's safe to say that I want to do other things."
He undresses, and I pull him to lie between my legs. My fingers graze over the scar on his shoulder. It's bumpy, the tissue built up. But it's still angry and red, and it makes my chest ache. I press my lips to it, wishing I could take away any pain he was in.
His hands are in my hair and his mouth on my neck. He's so hard against me, pressing in just the right spot where his mouth was minutes ago.
"What if I'm not good?" I mumble, feeling self-conscious.
He shakes his head, still rolling his hips against me. "Not possible."
When he winces, I freeze. "What?"
"Just... my leg…" His movements slow to a stop. "It's fine. Just gimme a second."
"Oh. I can… I can get on top."
He swallows, eyes darkening with lust. "I think that might be worse," he says with a breathy laugh. "As much as I fucking want that… and as good as it feels to have you riding me…"
My stomach flickers with its own lust now. Imagining me fucking him. Being on top, him filling me.
"I need you inside of me. Like, right now. I don't care how. Please," I nearly beg. "Please."
Holding himself up with one hand, he grabs himself with the other and rubs the head of his dick over me. I watch him watching us, and it's such a turn on I might explode again. He makes another pass over my clit, and my eyes flutter closed from the sensation.
"That feels so fucking good," I sigh. He does that a few times, and the slickness between us makes me so desperate, so wanton, so overwhelmed with desire. "Edward."
Then he guides himself inside of me, inch by inch, until his body is flush with mine.
"Fuck," he grits out. "Fuck. You okay?"
I nod, and he moves slowly, slowly, slowly. Too slowly. I grip his shoulders and move my hips against his, too.
"You feel so good. So much better than I remember," he mumbles, burying his face in my neck. "Goddamn."
"It feels better?"
"Yeah. God."
I let him take the lead and set the pace. His hands caress and grab. His mouth nips and bites. He switches between thrusting fast and hard, and when it's too much, rolling his hips slowly. All of it feels good, and I'm desperate for it all. I want anything he'll give me. Because even though it's all so new, the way my body is reacting to him doesn't feel new. It feels right and raw and passionate. It feels like I'm his now, more than ever.
"Fuck, baby. I can't… I don't…" His forehead is on mine, his hands pressing into the pillow above my head. "I never thought—"
He doesn't finish his thought before his thrusts turn erratic. He lifts one of my legs, hooking an arm under my knee. It's so much better like this, deeper, and I feel that familiar sensation in my lower belly, but he's too quick for it to follow through.
"Wait, fuck," he blurts. "Do I need to pull out?" he asks, almost panicked.
"No, don't." I don't know if we've done that before, but I don't care. We're doing that now. I want all of him. I want him to come inside of me and make me his. It's carnal, and I'm so close again, but then he's groaning against my neck, sucking and biting as he pulses inside of me.
His body is heavy, and we breathe deeply. Sated and sweaty. When he lifts his head, his cheeks are flushed. I smile a little, brushing the hair away from his forehead. I love him so much, it makes my chest hurt. I love him so much I'd risk everything to be with him this way.
"You okay?" he asks. "Was it…"
"It was perfect. Is your leg okay?"
"No, but it's worth it," he laughs, kissing my mouth. He rolls off of me, lying close. He plays with my hair and traces his fingers over my breasts with a smug smile.
"What were you gonna say?" I ask. "Before you… you said you never thought what...?"
Clearing his throat, he scrubs a hand over his mouth. "I never thought we'd get to do that again. I mean, I hoped, but… I didn't know."
"Oh."
He searches my eyes. "I'm glad I was wrong."
I grab his face with both hands, kissing him. "Me too."
We spend the rest of the day wrapped up in each other, never leaving my bed. With his body, he shows me all of the things I like. We're tender with one another, both fascinated by the new and old. He kisses the freckle above my hip, claiming it as his favorite spot. When his fingers graze the faded scar below my knee, he recalls the story of how it happened without me even having to tell him.
There's a bittersweet feeling that lingers in the air when I tell him I wish I knew everything about him, too. That I wish I could get back those memories. But he says we can make new ones, and maybe that will have to do for now. We'll do the best with what we've got. And if all we have is each other, then I'm okay with that.