A/N: Thanks so much for all your wonderful thoughts. :)
The long holiday weekend and a shitload of work waiting for me upon its end have me backed up today. :(
Therefore, here's a shorter-than-usual update, AND it doesn't contain a scene for which I posted a teaser on my Facebook page last week. I wasn't able to get it up to that point, BUT I'll hopefully have it to you guys later on in the week. ;)
Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. All mistakes are mine.
Broken – Chapter 9
After hitting my sweet spot, the morning rain and its partnering breeze spurred me on for that last stretch down the West Side Highway riverfront runner's path. When I hit the five-mile mark, I stopped and stretched my limbs, all the while accompanied by my favored track on my playlist.
'We come from the land of the ice and snow. From the midnight sun, where the hot springs flow…'
The track was suddenly interrupted by a call. With my cellphone on an armband, I didn't need to stop to check on the caller ID, though I had no intention of answering the call. There were few people whose call I'd take at that moment anyway. However, the person calling – face-timing surprisingly enough – happened to be one of those few people.
"What's up, Mom?" I said while continuing my forward and backward lunges. "Sorry if I don't stop."
"That's fine, sweetheart. I see I caught you post-run, and I don't want your muscles to stiffen up on you later, but I was reading my CDC Newsletter update this morning, the one on that app you showed me how to download? And it-"
"Mom, it's no big deal," I said, already knowing where she was headed.
"Edward, it's a huge deal," she disagreed with a chuckle. "I'm so proud of you. The newsletter says you're the youngest epidemiologist the CDC has ever given the award to?"
I snorted. "It's all more publicity and excuse to party and pat ourselves on the shoulder for a job well done than an actual measure of the job. We all work hard."
"I'm sure you do, which is exactly why, every once in a while, it's good practice to stop and pat yourselves on the back – or at the very least, to allow others to congratulate you."
"You're right, you're right," I chuckled, accepting the slight reproof. Then, halting my lunges and straightening, I offered Esme my full attention. On the small screen, I saw her seated at her kitchen counter, drinking a cup of morning coffee. She set down her mug and frowned.
"You do plan to attend the award ceremony that'll be held in Atlanta next month, don't you?"
I raked a hand through my damp hair and swept my eyes to the gray river, where thick droplets now pelted the water.
"And have to prepare an embarrassing acceptance speech?" I smirked. "I'm already going to be busy with real work I've got prep for the conference." The week-long conference. An entire week away from…her.
"Edward," my mom groaned.
"Mom," I groaned in return.
"How about if I meet you in Atlanta and attend the award ceremony with you?" Her eyes widened in excitement but the excitement was quickly doused by a frown. "That is unless there's someone else you'd rather attend as your guest?" she backtracked.
"No, Mom," I said, but for one moment, I pictured Bella dressed in a red party dress, clapping proudly from the front row as I accepted the stupid award and then gave a speech she'd helped me write.
"There's no one else." I sighed. "Would you like to attend? I'll attend the stupid ceremony if you'll attend with me," I grinned.
"Honestly? I'd love it." Her ensuing shriek of joy made me laugh. "And I'm already designing your custom tux in my head."
"I'm sure you are," I chuckled.
OOOOO
When I turned the corner to the coffee shop that morning, I caught sight of Bella at her usual spot. Yet, within seconds, I could tell something was wrong.
Her cheeks were as colorless and gray as was the day. She seemed to be gazing yet not actually seeing the thick raindrops pelting the window right in front of her. And the biggest sign of all that something was bothering her: fingers which had moved like lightning for the past couple of weeks across her keyboard were now encircling a cup of coffee as if the cup was a lifeline. All the while, her laptop laid closed in front of her.
She didn't note my approach nor react in any way when I took the empty seat next to her, but that was as per usual. I waited a few minutes before angling sideways. Again, the stillness of her fingers startled me. It was as if they were frozen around her cup – all except for her left thumb, the only finger not fisting the cup. It twitched spasmodically in a manner I couldn't completely see but which for some reason, made my stomach turn.
"Is the muse being flighty today?" I asked carefully; quietly.
For a few seconds, there was no reply. I began to doubt she'd actually heard me until the tone of her voice, tired and irritated, made my eyes widen.
"Leave me alone, please."
I considered it for a moment; I did.
"What's wrong, Bella?"
"What makes you think something's wrong?" she replied harshly, less weariness and more annoyance now. "Maybe I'm just tired of your stupid, inane conversation."
There was another long pause while I struggled with the insult and with the instinctive, human reaction to either retort or to leave the scene. Fight versus flight.
But…this woman wasn't the woman I knew; the one who gazed softly at the park beyond the window. This wasn't the woman who grinned excitedly at her laptop screen while her fingers flew over its keyboard. This wasn't the woman who'd shared small yet significant pieces of herself with me – her views on people and on the windows which distorted that view, details on her housesitting gig, her habit of biting her thumbnail beds…of getting lost contemplating possibilities she didn't think she should contemplate…
'Edward…I'm frightened…you helped me…'
This wasn't that Bella. I'd extrapolated enough to know that much.
"You're not writing, and you've been writing nonstop for days now."
She exhaled heavily, one of those exhales purposely meant to signify frustration. When she turned toward me, her dark eyes were rimmed in equally dark circles. She hadn't slept, yet she was more than physically exhausted; she was mentally drained. And though I could tell by her expression that her next words would be as acrimonious as her previous ones, meant to offend me and push me away, I smiled at her.
And all the while, her left thumb continued its spastic, obstructed movements.
"Look, can you stop watching me? It's fucking…strange, Stranger," she spat.
She chose her words well; I had to give her that. While not necessarily the fanciest words, accusing me of stalking her while refusing to use my name got her message across.
And then, at the same time that I realized what her left thumb was doing, a sickeningly infuriating suspicion hit me.
"Do you miss him?" I asked, hoping she didn't notice how my chest heaved, because if that fucker had the balls to do what I suspected…
But the question caught her by so much surprise, I began to suspect my suspicions were wrong. When she finally turned my way, she took me in through rounded, startled eyes.
"How did you know I was once-?"
"You keep playing with your ring finger." I jerked my jaw toward her left hand, which she still had wrapped around her cup. "Except, there's no ring on it."
Slowly, she dropped her gaze to her left hand as if she'd completely forgotten she even had a left hand. Suddenly, the expression which consumed her beautiful features was no longer one of fury…but one of pain…and the sharp ache of betrayal.
She snorted, and with her eyes still on her hand, she smiled ruefully.
"I have quirky fingers, don't I? I guess…old habits die hard."
"So, do you?"
"Do I what?" she asked as if she'd completely forgotten what we were discussing.
"Do you miss him?" I repeated.
When her head shot up and she met my eyes again, the indignant fury was back.
"Why in the world would I tell you?" she scowled. "You're a perfect stranger."
"Maybe that's why. Who better than a perfect stranger to share your thoughts with?"
What the fuck was I saying? Jesus, what the hell was I doing? Emmett was right; I was walking a fine line here with Bella, and I'd just tripped over the wrong side of that line; pretending I was a stranger in my desperation to get her to bear her soul to me? What the fuck?
I fisted my rain-soaked hair and shook my head quickly. "Actually, Bella, don't ans-"
But it was too late.
"Those first few months, I missed him so much…so much I'd curl up into a ball at night," – she whispered the words as if she was ashamed to say them out loud, yet at the same time…she couldn't stop herself – "and I'd try to make myself as tiny as possible to see if that would constrict the pain that radiated into my every extremity. But then, I couldn't breathe. So, I'd remember all the things he said and those things he didn't say the last time we…spoke, and I'd stretch out my body as far and wide as I could in an effort to release the anger welling inside me. None of it helped me breathe, though."
My heart pounded painfully, hands balled into fists on top of the table. My mouth clamped itself shut in an effort to keep myself in check, fueled as I was by equal parts outrage on her behalf…and shame for the confession I'd extracted from her so clandestinely. Yet, as much as Bella had apparently been unable to keep her confession silent any longer…I was unable to keep myself from asking,
"And now?"
When more than a handful of seconds transpired, I assumed she wouldn't reply. Part of me actually felt relieved, because I had no right to know the answer; of course, I knew that. Yet, like a person standing directly under the Tree of Knowledge, I wanted to reach up and pluck that shiny, red apple more than anything. So, when she did reply, I jumped up for that morsel.
"Now…I miss the idea," she breathed.
"The idea of him?"
"Yes. No."
She shook her head, dark eyes sweeping to the window. When she spoke, her words were measured, as if even as she said them, even as she tasted what was to me forbidden fruit from her mouth, the taste of it surprised her.
"No. No, that's not right either. I miss…the security that came with thinking he'd make me happy. I miss the sense of safety that resulted from believing Life would be that easy; you know? That I'd just place my happiness in someone else's hands and...poof," – she snapped her fingers and smiled wistfully at the world beyond the windows – "magic."
While I watched her recite her trance-like realizations, I sat mutely in my own daze of reverie until she blinked herself out of her musings. When she met my eyes once more, the self-conscious chuckle she offered me, in conjunction with her next words proved she'd completely misread my ever-increasing awe and the sense of respect that multiplied exponentially with every consecutive conversation between us.
"You probably think I'm some sort of lunatic, don't you? And if Dr. Rose heard me use that type of language to describe myself, she'd choke me."
Bella Swan, I think you're one of the most magnificent and one of the strongest women I've ever met.
"I don't think you're a lunatic – not at all. In fact, I think it all sounds a whole lot like those windows you always talk about. There's no real substance to them, yet sometimes, they offer us a deceiving sense of safety while all along, they're stifling us. So, we've got to throw open those windows just to breathe. Maybe…maybe that's what your marriage was like."
"Deceivingly safe and stifling. Maybe," she mused, nodding slowly. When she tilted her head sideways and studied me, long, silky hair fell over her shoulder.
'You're not concealing who you are for my sake. You're doing it for yours.'
Cringing imperceptibly, I mentally shook the dream out of my head.
"Edward, how do you understand what I'm saying when I barely understand it myself; when we hardly know one another?"
It was time.
I'd taken enough from this strong woman without giving her any of myself – any of my true self. Yet, the knowledge of what I was about to lose before I'd even gained it made my blood run cold. My lungs constricted, the deprivation of her presence, of our fleeting friendship, already being felt.
Her eyes narrowed while she waited for my reply, and I swallowed, and…
"Bella, I should probably tell you…" – I drew in a long breath – "I should probably…I should…I should go and let you get back to your writing. You should get back to your writing."
…and I couldn't do it.
Bella's smooth brow furrowed in confusion because she was too intelligent not to be confused by that blundering, half-witted speech. Her eyes shifted almost imperceptibly to her shut laptop – where she'd obviously not been writing.
Nonetheless, with a magnanimous nod and a soft smile, she backed away…and let it go.
"All right. All right; I guess you should…go so I can return to my writing."
So consumed by self-loathing at my cowardice in the face of her bravery, I tapped the counter space between us harder than I'd meant to, obviously startling her yet again.
"Take care, Bella." My voice shook as I pushed back my chair noisily.
"Take care, Stranger."
I stood quickly, for the first time eager to be out of her presence. But even as I made it to the door of the coffee shop, even as I pulled it open, I couldn't make myself leave without stealing one more glance at her.
Poor Esme; so proud, thinking she'd raised a brave man.
Bella had already opened up her laptop, fingers poised and ready.
"Hey, Bella?" I called out, just loudly enough for her to hear me.
When she looked over her shoulder, she did so casually, easily…as if she'd been waiting.
"Yeah?"
Her eyes sparkled, and my heart leaped at the sight. She'd shared her bravery with me; I had to reciprocate somehow.
"For what it's worth, I think you're better off without him. You're better off without anyone who can't see what a…fascinating treasure you are."
She drew in a few successive breaths and swallowed.
"Thank you, Edward. I'm beginning to think so too." A two-second pause, and then, "Will you be here tomorrow morning? You know, to watch me write?" She offered me an impish grin.
"Wouldn't miss it for the world."
"Good. I'll see you then."
And just like that, we'd turned another corner, strengthened our friendship, grown even closer…and I'd failed at telling her what I had to tell her.
"I'll do it tomorrow," I whispered to myself.
And with a deep breath, I walked through the door and out of the coffee shop.
A/N: Thoughts?
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