I do not own Twilight.
As promised.
"Do you get to go outside?"
My question is swift; my desire to change the subject even swifter. I want to keep him talking, to keep him from shutting down and, even though I've already asked Emmett this question and know the answer, the small smile that graces his face makes it worth it.
"Yeah," he mutters, glancing back at me. "A few hours a day."
I glance at the clock, suddenly realizing we're wasting time with our caution, with our half-answers.
"So are you—" I start.
"How are you—" he asks at the same time. I pause. He does too.
"Oh," I think, not knowing what to say, because what do you say to someone who's been behind bars for the past few months? How can I talk to him about my life outside? About my classes, about my friends, about my family when his life is currently at a stand-still. White walls, scratchy blankets, watchful eyes. "I'm…okay."
We both smile and then look away from each other. I'm painfully aware that my answer reflects his when I asked him the same question. I'm also painfully aware that I feel like I'm sixteen all over again. Nervous around him, unsure how to approach. "I only have a month left before I graduated," I say quietly, shyly.
"Are you still Literature?" he asks.
I nod.
He runs his hand through his copper hair, sets his green eyes on me and it's a startling contrast to the past times I've seen him. He's wholesome now. Ruggedly handsome as always, but reminiscent of the sixteen-year-old boy I fell in love with.
My heart jumps into my throat.
"I'm proud of you," he says quietly, seriously.
I duck my head, hiding my smile. "Thank you."
"Does your mom…?"
I shrug, knowing what he's asking without him needing to finish. "She'll get over it, I guess."
Maybe she already has.
Edward smiles a little. It's gone as soon as it arrived and I'm suddenly desperate to get it back. A real smile. A light to his emerald eyes.
"So…what can you do in here?" I ask quickly, hoping I don't sound anxious. "I mean, can you read? Can you watch movies? Or the news?"
Edward bites his lip and his eyes, which were watching me carefully, look away.
"Uh, yeah," he says to the empty chair at the table beside ours. Eleven. It's been empty the entire time. "There's a library. A common area with a T.V. Sports."
I can feel my eyes light up. "Baseball?" It would explain how he's kept his shape.
He glances at me quickly, his eyes searching my face. "There's baseball, but..." He looks away again. I think he looks embarrassed, but for what, I have no idea. "I can only play basketball, track…things like that."
"Why?" I ask, feeling stupid. It seems like a comment I should understand and the way he looks at me makes me think I should understand.
Suddenly, anger sparks in his tone, "I'm in here for aggravated battery, Bella. They're not going to give me a weapon."
I blanch. "Weapon?"
"The bat," he says without hesitation.
"Oh. I didn't…" My mouth won't form words other than that and I feel horrible, remorseful like I've treaded some invisible line.
"It's okay," he says, sitting back. I hadn't realized he had become so rigid. Clearly, it's not okay. Clearly, I know nothing about his life on the inside. The very idea of Edward—the boy who went to college on a baseball scholarship—not being able to handle a bat…
I shake my head quickly, grasping onto what little I know, which is hardly anything anymore.
"I don't know how to talk to you in here, Edward," I cry, and it's a desperate sound. "I don't know what to say. I don't know what not to say."
He ignores my questions, my traumatizing plea for a line, a hook, somewhere in this vast ocean of uncertainty.
He studies my face for a moment, his eyes never straying on one feature for too long before asking, "What are you doing here, Bella? Why do you keep coming back?"
His words sting me and I'm the one to sit back this time, the desperation leaking through my voice, my words, my eyes. "I thought—you said you wanted me to—"
"I do," he cuts me off and his words are sincere.
"Then why—"
"Do you only come back because I've asked you to?" he asks quickly.
I shake my head automatically without thinking, without hesitation and he closes his eyes, his expression suddenly tired. It's as though I've drained him. My answers exhaust him. My answers exhaust me.
"Then why, Bella?" he asks quietly, still behind his closed eyes. He sounds beaten down, weary from everything that's happened today.
Weary from me.
"Just…give me something. Please," he adds after a second, his words without volume.
The breath I take is sharp, as are the discretion of my words because it's what I've wanted to tell him the entire time. It's what I came here to tell him. It's what I felt was necessary to tell him, and the words tumble from my lips before I lose my nerve.
"I left Mike."
His eyes snap open, dark green raising to my own earthy tone and I don't know if his reaction made the words worth it, or if I want to swallow them back down again.