A/N: Thanks so much for all your wonderful thoughts!
I hope everyone had a great weekend.
Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belongs to me. All mistakes are mine.
Chapter 3 – Sin and Damnation
October 28: Present Day – Forks, Washington
A loud gasp wakes me, one that sounds like a breath hitched sharply by someone who's just found a bogeyman under her bed.
I only wonder vaguely about the gasp's source. I'm more curious about why I've come to awareness with my eyes popping open all at once rather than with the hazy, testing flutters after waking – the way a person usually arrives at morning consciousness. My eyes bounce around the room, studying my surroundings, even as my head remains perfectly still above the soft, downy pillow. Concurrently, I feel my heart racing and an accompanying, furious staccato thrumming in my veins. At the next moment, it hits me:
I emitted the loud gasp that woke me.
One would think all these physiological reactions equate to fear – the body's age-old and instinctive responses to danger, its innate preparation for fight or flight. And yes, I'm agitated, but I feel no mental upheaval; none of the neurosis, the anxiety of the mind, or even those unaccountable heebie-jeebies that echo terror. I'm unsettled, but I'm not afraid. It's as if I dreamed I found the bogeyman under my bed…and beckoned him nearer.
Drawing in a succession of long and deep breaths, I rake a hand through my hair and keep it fisted at my crown while I gaze up at gauzy gray contours Forks morning sun etches on the bedroom ceiling. When my gaze pans to the bedroom door, another gasp escapes me.
Edward stands there, gazing at me. He's got one shoulder leaning against the door frame, a long leg crossed over the other, and his hands dug into his sweatpants' pockets. It never fails to thrill me how powerful his frame is: lean yet corded from shoulders to hamstrings in sinewy tendons and ligaments. His skin is the color of honey, always appearing as if it sports a natural tan, though he prefers to avoid the sun's harmful rays. His hazel eyes are dark at the moment; they change color depending on the factors around him, whether we're indoors or outdoors, whether he's calm or anxious, whether we're making gentle love…or fucking hard as we did last night.
He's striking, commanding attention even in insouciant casualness, and dressed in nothing but those sweatpants.
Last night, he seemed stressed. I could taste it on his lips, see it in the moonlight reflecting off his gaze. I should've asked – afterward, at least – but I suppose I was selfishly consumed with my own stress from that…strange dream. Either way, he seems perfectly relaxed this morning.
I return his soft smile. "Morning, babe."
"Morning," he murmurs in reply.
"Where were you?"
His eyes hold mine for a couple more heartbeats before he replies. "In the basement, taking care of..." – he jerks his head toward the hallway, then pushes himself off the wall and makes his way to me – "some stuff. How do you feel?"
"Just fine." I sit in bed, and he leans in, brushing his warm lips against mine. "Mm, my morning breath," I remind him, turning away and covering my mouth.
He quirks a brow. "Your morning breath," he echoes, sitting next to me.
"Yeah, I've got to brush my teeth first."
"First? As in, before we kiss?"
"Yeah," I chuckle.
He stares at me. "What about my morning breath?"
"You obviously already brushed your teeth."
"Mm," he hums.
"So." My shoulders rise and fall. "Wild night last night, huh?"
He sighs. "Yeah. Wilder for you than for me, I imagine."
"Crazy dreams," I muse. "I had another one just now before I woke."
His eyes narrow, and he slides a hand around my nape. "Another one." It's more a statement than a question, as if he's not so surprised as he is unhappy about it on my behalf.
"Yeah, but don't worry. It wasn't too bad. Not as bad as the first one, at least."
He offers me a slow nod. "Want to talk about it?"
Crossing my legs pretzel-style, my gaze pans over his shoulder, where I affix it to the wall behind him and use it as a blank canvas on which to repaint the sights still lingering in my head. All the while, Edward massages my nape.
"I was back in those olden times, with those…Puritans." My brow furrows in focus. "I was in a church, listening to a long and peculiar sermon from a preacher who preached fire and brimstone," I say, deepening my voice and mimicking the menacing tone I remember from my dream. "I can't recall the particulars of the sermon, only that it was about sin and hell and all the dangers to our immortal souls should we allow immorality in."
"Sounds like a bullshit sermon," Edward says after a pause.
"Yeah, I think it was." I feel the creases in my forehead deepen. "I also get the sense that it was very…anti-woman."
When he doesn't reply, I look at him.
"Immorality usually revolves around women."
"Hey!" I expel with an indignant laugh.
He shakes his head, rakes his hand through my hair now, back and forth along my scalp. His touch floods me with warmth despite the cold morning.
"What I mean is…hell and sin are vague concepts, aren't they?" he suggests.
"Are they? They sound pretty straightforward to me – sin and hell; if you're an asshole, you burn for an eternity. End of story."
He tilts his head, studying me as if…as if I've confused him with this response.
"End of story," Edward eventually repeats, "where in this story, Hell is defined as 'a place or state of eternal punishment for those considered wicked or sinful,' while sin is defined as 'an immoral act – a transgression against divine law.'" He snorts derisively at the definitions he's just spouted. "But what is immorality?"
"It's the state of being immoral," I reply.
He nods. "When a word is used to define itself, it's usually because its meaning changes with the times. And, in fact, immoral is defined as 'not conforming to accepted standards of morality.'"
"Because the standards are ever-evolving."
"As are the various forms of atonement attributed to the offense," he smirks. "Take what was immoral in those…Puritan times: a curious woman. She might very well be considered a virtue today."
"An enlightened woman," I restate with a smile. "And perhaps, a hundred years from now, if we're lucky, the same sort of woman will be laid at the altar of perfection – a state of being to be worshiped," I add, expanding on the theory.
He grins and reaches for my hand, weaving our fingers together, his thumb playing with my stack of rings.
"Which takes the entire abstract notion of sin and turns it into a piece of garbage, social construct because there is no sin, Bella," he hisses with a grin that no longer holds any mirth, "and there is no eternal abyss of everlasting punishment. What there are, are unquestionable wrongs and rights that remain unchanged regardless of day and age – acts of physical and mental torture perpetuated against one's fellow man and woman – and the payment for either is exacted here on Earth." He bounces a finger over the mattress with so much vigor that when I look down, he's left an impression on the springs that doesn't fade. "We pay for our wrongs here, not in some bullshit inferno created by men who belonged in their own warped, twisted nightmares of damnation."
For a long moment, I simply stare at his flared nostrils, at the jaw tensely squared, at those hazel eyes now as black as that eternal abyss in which he doesn't believe. As if he is the eternal abyss that exacts justice.
Then I laugh.
Throwing back my head, peals of laughter rock me back and forth on my bottom. When I finally rein in my amusement, I look at Edward again. He's smiling at me, completely unfazed by my reaction to his dark theory.
"Either way, thank God we didn't live back then, huh?"
"Yes," he sighs. "Yes. Thank God."
Something else tickles at the edges of my memory. "I remember something else now. There was another girl in my dream…"
"Was there?"
"In my dream, I got the sense that…that the preacher tried to hurt her…that he…that he tried to…"
"That he tried to what, Bella?" Edward prompts.
"I…I don't know."
After a moment, Edward grins again, his Adam's apple bobbing hard when he swallows.
"You look hungry. Am I keeping you from breakfast?" I tease.
"Depends." He picks up my hand and weaves our fingers together. "Was there more you wanted to discuss?"
"No. I don't think so. Hell and damnation are pretty heavy topics for first thing in the morning. Don't you think?"
He raises his brow, holding my gaze intently once again. I suppose I've been worrying him since last night with my strange dreams.
"For first thing in the morning? Yeah, I suppose they would be heavy topics for first thing in the morning. Though you and I…we talk about anything and everything, Bella. Always. At any time."
Cradling his cheek in one hand, I try to forget my morning breath and brush my lips gently against his, pulling back to hold his gaze. His eyes are warm and green now, though they're still dark at their rims, fringed by concern.
"I know, baby. And thank you for always listening to me. But, come on." Hopping off the bed, I beckon him as I pad to the door. "Enough heavy talk. I'm fine. And to prove it to you, I'll play the cook this morning. How do pancakes sound?"
Edward doesn't answer. When I peek over my shoulder, he's still on the bed, watching me.
"Or do you feel more like eggs?" I give my stomach a round pat. "Decide quick. I'm hungry too, and I can go for either."
He blinks a handful of times. "Honestly, either option sounds about the same to me."
"Pancakes it is, then." I smile and turn back toward the door. "Come on."
"You go ahead," he calls out. "I'm going to dress first."
"'Kay. But don't take too long, or your breakfast 'll get cold!" I call up as I take the staircase down.
In the kitchen, I flip on the small counter TV and then the coffee machine, yawning widely. Those couple of dreams must've kept me up for a few hours. I feel drained, and I can still feel the dreams trying to mess with my thoughts and loiter around the periphery of my day the way some nightmares stick around.
"Good morning! It's the 28th of October – almost Halloween! Hope you've got your costumes ready! In morning news, the Dow Jones was down again yesterday, and the storms brewing in the Caribbean are intensifying. In Seattle, there was another disappearance…"
The blond girl in my dream, there's an uncomfortable sense of unease surrounding my thoughts of her. It all feels as if…as if I've forgotten something important…something huge from that latest dream, but I'm not sure if I want to remember it.
I refuse to be haunted by a dream all day.
Opening the coffee pod drawer, I rummage through the rather poor selection while I put the girl and the dreams out of my mind. Picking a pod randomly, I put it in the coffee machine and let it do its thing. Then I turn to the fridge and pull it open.
"Oh, my God!"
"What is it, Bella?" Edward shouts down.
"When the hell was the last time we went food shopping? The fridge is empty!"
Edward doesn't answer.
Sighing, I make my way to the pantry and find it in a similar state of sparseness. Shaking my head, I pull out the lone box of cereal. "I'm gonna have to eat this without milk." I push a hand into the box and pull out a few grains, my eyes panning to the kitchen window-
I suppose my breath hitches, or I make some loud sound of alarm. Almost at that exact moment, Edward appears in the kitchen. He's already dressed for the day in dark, casual slacks and a dark blue polo shirt. He approaches me briskly, cradling my face in his hands.
"In my dream…there was someone with red eyes watching me through the church window."
"And…what happened?"
"I…I don't know. I think that's when I woke up."
Edward swallows, his gaze narrowing, apparent apprehension darkening his gaze.
"Bella…"
I shake my head. "Never mind. Never mind, babe. I'm fine."
Pulling away, I act natural, feign a nonchalance I don't feel. There are so many things going on in the world – inflation, climate change, crime. The last thing I want to distress Edward over is something as stupid as dreams. I chuckle carelessly.
"Honestly, I think the approaching Halloween holiday is getting to me," I say, tossing a few grains of cereal into my mouth and pasting a smile on my face as I chew-
-then spew out the cereal in one long stream of pulverized lumps. I spit out the rest forcefully, ridding my mouth of every last gritty, sand-like fragment, then scraping my tongue with my teeth a few times for good measure.
Meanwhile, Edward calmly walks to the sink, pulls a paper towel from the roll, dampens it, and walks over to me, gently wiping my mouth.
"Why is the only bit of food in the house expired?" I wonder aloud.
Edward sighs. "I think…we should stay home today."
I shake my head. "Look, my stomach does feel weird, but I don't need you to stay home with me, worrying."
"Bella-"
"Edward," – resting a palm on his chest, I look up at him and smile – "I'm just going to take a personal day and, you know, do some self-pampering – watch some trash TV, apply moisture masks, do my nails. That kind of stuff."
"Trash TV, moisture masks, and nails," Edward reiterates, his brow raised.
"Why not?" I chuckle.
"Why not, indeed."
"Look, I can tell you're worried, but you don't need to be. I just need a mental health day to reset myself. Maybe I'll call Alice and see if she wants to play hooky with me."
He nods slowly, holding my gaze. "All right. All right, maybe a…mental health day to reset is a good idea." He kisses my forehead, his mouth lingering…sighing again before he pulls away and drops his head to my eye level. "But Bella, if you need me-"
"I'm fine, Edward. Haven't you ever heard the saying, 'I am woman, hear me roar?'"
He offers me a gentle smile. "I've heard your roars. They're awe-inspiring."
Chuckling, I wrap my arms around his shoulders and push up on my toes. "Hey…if you're not in a rush…before you leave for work…maybe you can make me roar again."
Edward's gaze darkens. He slides his arms around my hips and carefully walks me backward. When my legs hit something – the edge of the kitchen table – he pushes me on it, and for a second, I worry about stray dishes, salt and pepper shakers, vases, and the like.
But he spreads me out, and nothing appears to be displaced. What's more, when he grins at me, all his concern is now seemingly on the back burner, replaced by desire that makes his eyes almost black…everything else going on in my head takes a back seat as well.
"I thought you were planning to self-pamper today?" he teases huskily, nipping my top lip.
When I throw back my head to laugh, he burrows his mouth against my neck, and my laughter fades. I cradle his head while his mouth puckers and nips my flesh, raising goosebumps.
"How about I let you pamper me a bit first?" I ask breathlessly.
"Always. I'm always ready to worship you, Bella."
He's already pulling down his zipper. And when he pushes aside my panties and drives in, for a second – for a split, infinitesimally minute, almost nonexistent fraction of a second – I think I see his eyes…change…
But then he begins thrusting, grunting in rhythm to the friction we always create together. He pushes in fast, then pulls out slowly, driving me crazy with need, over and over. The table under me quakes, and I expel groans and sighs, pulling him in deeper while pushing away further all dark dreams in favor of the here…
And the now.
A/N: Thoughts?
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