I do not own Twilight.
Hi, I'm the worst. I admit it. And I don't even have an excuse this time. But I have three chapters for you right now, and two more for tomorrow, so...love me please?
I have nowhere to look other than the door twenty paces across from me, hesitant to look around for fear of breaking the rule of not contacting any of the other inmates.
None of the others seem interested in contact, though. They're all in their own worlds, greeting their mothers, their wives, their children. It warms my heart, but makes me wary as well, which is why I do nothing but switch between staring at the number carved out on the desk, and the white door across from me.
So, it's only natural that when the door opens, my eyes are trained on the dark scratch across the handle.
The guard says something to him, shows him the paper in his masked hand, but Edward's eyes are already moving around the room. They land, almost automatically, on me.
He moves towards the table—our table—and the guard looks surprised, but lets him go, choosing to stand beside the door again rather than forcing him to comply.
His orange suit is gone, replaced with dark gray sweatpants and a lighter gray long-sleeved shirt, pushed past his forearms. He fills it out well, I can't help but to notice, but I can't tear my eyes away from his, which are locked on my own until he reaches the chair across the table from me. He looks at the metal, and then back to me, waiting.
"Hi," I say after a second, not sure what else to say. I sound timid, child-like, and his lip twitches.
"Hi."
I wait for him to sit, which he does after a brief moment of hesitation. I search for words, for anything to ask, because there's so much I need to ask, so much I want to ask, but I don't feel that I can.
"Um," I cross my leg quickly, decidedly, "how are you?"
His eyebrow twitches. It's something I recognize from our years together. He's amused by my question, but a bit exasperated.
Embarrassed, unsure, I ramble. "I mean, how…are you? I've never asked before… I mean, I've never asked… Every time I've visited, it's…" I sigh, gather my thoughts despite his constant look of uncertainty. "How are you…doing…in here…?"
Edward stares at me, the uncertainty and exasperation gone. He only stares.
He shifts in his seat after a few seconds and ignores my question. "Did you come alone this time?"
I shake my head.
"Who with?" he asks, and I can tell by the careful look to his eyes that he's wondering if I'm here with Mike.
"Rosalie," I say, and then add, "from school," because I'm not sure he knows who she is. I never introduced them.
"I remember," he says softly.
He's quiet for a little too long, and I think he wants more information—why I didn't come with Mike, why I didn't come with Emmett, maybe, but he speaks again. "I'm…okay."
I look up at him quickly.
"Yeah?"
He watches me carefully. "Yeah. It's just…hard, trying to find things to fill the time."
I nod, a million other questions stumbling into my mind from that information alone. I look around the small corner of the room we are in, hoping to quell my burning desire for answers. "Do you have…friends?" I ask quietly.
"I don't think people in here are your friends."
His answer is short. He doesn't offer more. It feels strange, speaking to him this way without anyone watching our every move, our every word. I don't know what to say, what to do.
"Oh…," I settle with, glancing away from his charging eyes, his hard jawline. Studying his features will help neither of us.
He clears his throat and I glance up curiously.
"I mean, I'm friendly with some, yeah. My cellmate is…nice. Easy to talk to."
I smile softly and look back down at the table. "That's…I mean, good. I'm glad. That you have someone."
I glance back up at him as he looks away and I catch a lasting trace of sorrow in his expression. I run through my words in my mind, wondering where I went wrong, but I know how it sounded—like he has no one else in the world anyways.
I fidget in my seat, wondering how to take back what I said without making it worse, because he's still avoiding eye contact and not speaking to me. I stop, stare at him because it's ridiculous I need to carefully choose my words. It's ridiculous I always have to walk on eggshells with everyone in my life.
I've forgotten the small pact with myself that I would stop walking on eggshells; that I wouldn't hold things in for the sake of everyone else around me.
If something needs to be said, I'm going to say it.