I do not own Twilight.
His fingers are soft and they remind me of other times he's touched me, other places he's touched me. It takes everything within me to stay quiet, to not let the emotional journey that is Edward and I take over this moment. I live it, recommitting to memory that way it feels when his index finger strokes along the inside of my wrist.
He traces the outline of the bruise, careful not to cause pain, though when he speaks, his voice is riddled with it.
"It's not right, Bella." He takes a small breath, a quiet sigh. "It's not fair."
I swallow, hoping my voice won't give away the entangle of emotions flowing through me right now, glad that his gaze is still trained on the subtle movement of his fingers over my skin.
"I know," I manage, my voice too soft to hold any power. "I'm sorry you're here and he's—"
Edward looks up at me quickly. "That's not what I mean," he says quietly.
I open my mouth to say something, but his fingers move a little higher, trace a little further into my palm, just past the junction of my wrist and I suddenly feel weak, lightheaded. I close my eyes.
"I don't care that I'm in here."
My eyes snap back open.
There's something to his expression, some vulnerability that I don't see often. Really, that I've hardly ever seen.
"I mean, I know why I'm in here," he continues quietly, glancing back down at my arm. "I'm working on it." He looks up at me timidly and the breath catches in my throat. "But you shouldn't let him get away with touching you. It's not fair to you."
"I just…" I blow out a breath. "I want to forget about it. I tried to slap him, it wasn't…" I shake my head because I know I shouldn't defend Mike, and yet I do it anyways.
"Why did you try to slap him?" Edward asks.
I know I shouldn't tell him this. I know this is a topic we shouldn't get into, but there's something about the way he's looking at me, the susceptibility in his eyes that makes me want to tell him anything he wants to know. But I know that to do that, I can't be touching him.
I pull my hand from his, immediately burying my face so that I can't see his wounded expression.
"He called me sloppy seconds," I mutter behind my hands.
I wait, but the only sound I hear is the clinking together of his teeth. I chance a peek at him, but his eyes are closed. After a few seconds, he takes a breath and opens his eyes. There's anger there, yes. Offense, definitely. But it's not boiling over. It's not threatening to eat him alive. I'm shocked by what I see, and it makes my words come out in a whisper. "It doesn't matter."
That sparks something in him.
"Doesn't matter—" he begins to hiss, but stops himself. Breaths.
"Okay," he says slowly, "you're right."
I stare, blink once. I don't know who this man is in front of me.
"If you've moved on," he adds carefully.
"I have," I assent with a nod—and I have. "Honestly."
I hope my eyes aren't as wide as they feel right now as I watch him digest the information placidly. He runs a hand through his hair, resting his elbow on the surface of the table and then looks at me. Really looks at me. His eyes are bright. He's flourishing.
"I'm trying," he whispers to me.
I'm breathless from his words, but he needs encouragement. He needs validation.
"I can see that," I say. I bite my lip. "I'm proud of you." I realize it's a reiteration of his earlier words, but the twitch in the corner of his mouth makes it worth it.
He looks away from me, towards the far wall, the one my back is to.
"Our time is almost over," he says sadly. It still distresses me to realize he's been here, in this circumstance, in this room so many times that he knows the routine.
"Can I…do you want me to come back?" I ask quietly, because I want to. I want to come back.
His expression softens, the desolation slipping away for a moment. "Yes, Bella," he breaths. "The answer is always yes."
I smile at him. I can't help it. I don't know if my being here helps him, if it puts us in a good place, but I'm desperate to try to put us in a good place. I'm desperate to help him…to help us.
My teeth pull at my bottom lip and I can feel the wetness in my eyes.
"I'm trying, too," I promise quietly.
His gaze lightens, the tension around his eyes softens, though the look is somewhat more intense now, unmarred by masked anger and hurt.
"I know," he whispers.