DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc., are the intellectual property of the respective author. The original characters and plot are the property of Stephenie Meyer. No copyright infringement is intended.
-Chapter Four-
I woke up in a strange bed. The sun was flooding in through the dented blinds. My vision was still iffy, and it took me a second to focus. I'd about rubbed my eyelids to the point of being raw.
Sitting up on my elbows, I glanced around the room. It was a boy's room. That's for sure. It was a mess, and clothes were scattered everywhere.
Throwing the blanket off me, I was relieved to see that I was still fully clothed. My shoes were beside the bed, but that was the only thing removed.
My head pounded and throbbed as I sat upright, reminding me of all my bad decisions. I tried to remember last night's events. The memories were foggy, and I was still so exhausted. I'd been up for about twenty-four hours the day before.
I was bound to crash somewhere at some point.
Slipping on my shoes, I rose from the bed and walked to the door. I pressed my ear against it, listening for any movement on the other side. Instead, there was a faint sound of television but nothing else.
I had a good idea of where I was. I wasn't wholly forgetful. But, on the other hand, I didn't know what was waiting for me out there.
Shit, my screwdriver, I thought, patting my jeans pockets.
The money was still there, but my tool—or weapon, depending on the circumstances—was gone. It was still in Edward's car, where I'd left it.
Oh, well, whatever. I didn't get the feeling that I was going to need it. I couldn't figure out why that sense of unease wasn't there.
I didn't know these people. It was a little too soon and ignorant of me to trust a gun-toting stranger and his pot-smoking friend.
Opening the door and poking my head out, I had a partial view of the living room. I glanced down the hall to my left, noticing the bathroom and kitchen, but there wasn't a soul in either room. The only sign of life was the people on TV.
As I entered the living room, I stopped short of the couch, my eyes falling on a shirtless Edward.
He was sleeping, and he looked very young, almost boyish.
Those long legs of his were hanging over one end of the couch. The dark jeans were riding low on his hips and didn't leave much to the imagination. The tattoos along his chest were a lot more extensive than I initially thought, and as I silently crept up to interpret them, I realized how pointless that was. They were too chaotic in their complexity.
Edward wasn't overly muscular like his friend, but he had a solid and lean body below all his ink. This examination led me to the discovery of his other piercings. If I thought the lip ring was hot, it was nothing compared to his nipple rings. My eyes wandered down his torso, pondering the possibility of another piercing hidden below those jeans.
What was it about the bad boy?
They caused nothing but heartache, and you couldn't change them. They were trouble. I knew this crush's meaning, but it was too late. I was pulled into Edward's allure, unable to take my eyes off him.
"Drool much?" A raspy and womanly voice whispered into my ear.
I nearly jumped ten feet into the air, my heart pounding out of my chest. I turned around and saw a tall, statuesque blonde leaning against the wall and smirking at me.
She'd caught me panting and slobbering over a sleeping Edward, and we both knew it.
She busted me.
"I was just trying to figure out what his tattoos say," I replied, feigning indifference.
"Yeah, right, sure you were," she said, rolling her pretty blue eyes at me. She held out her manicured hand, and I shook it. "I'm Rosalie."
"I'm Bella."
It was a relief to see another female in this house. It put me at ease. Although, I wondered who she could be, and I hoped she wasn't Edward's girlfriend. She was beautiful, and there was no winning against that, but it wasn't even about her obvious beauty.
Beyond the perfect face and behind those eyes laid shameless brutality, and Rosalie wasn't someone you wanted to cross.
"How do you know Edward?" she asked, regaining my attention.
I glanced back at him to ensure he was still sleeping, and thankfully, he was.
"Um, I don't...not really."
She raised her eyebrow at me questioningly. "How old are you?"
The whole age thing again. My crutch. My downfall.
"Seventeen."
But in forty-four days, I'll be turning eighteen and officially be legal. So it wasn't like I counted the days or anything; I'm just saying.
"Are you having sex with him to score drugs?" She whispered, appalled.
"No!" I shouted. "God, no!"
Unfazed by my outburst, she crossed her arms over her chest and stared at me."Then why are you hanging out with him? This ain't no after school special, honey, and he ain't no role model. He's a hardened criminal."
"You should fucking talk, Rose." Edward grumbled from the couch.
My eyes shot to him, startled, as my pulse quickened and my breath caught.
Damn it, I woke him up with all my shouting, but Jesus, he was so freaking cute.
He was sitting up now, and his hands were running through his hair, looking amazingly good, all disheveled and messy—being shirtless didn't hurt him, either.
"How many fucking convictions do you have under your corset?" he asked, glancing up at her. "Armed robbery, trespassing, assault and battery, drug possession—"
She laughed. "Yeah, yeah, we got it, asshole, but see, unlike you, I was never convicted of those things, sooo."
He scoffed. "Hypocrisy."
"Call it what you will, Eddie," she said, "but you'll still be the documented criminal around here."
"What the fuck ever, Saint Rosalie. Why don't you do us both a favor and go unload some of these dime bags," he said, waving his hand over the table. "Be fucking useful for once."
"Later, I'm busy," she said, smiling at me. "Nice to meet you, Baby Bella."
I groaned at the newest nickname. "Yeah, you, too."
She strolled out of the room, leaving Edward and me alone again.
"Fucking hassle," he said, lighting a cigarette and looking up at me. "Did you sleep well?"
"Yeah, I guess—I must of, you know, because I don't remember much about last night or how I got in that bed."
He nodded, understanding, taking a long drag off the cigarette before answering me. "You passed out on the chair, and I carried you to my room."
The thought of being in his arms tingled with this sense of longing and need. It circulated through me, and I felt the blush on my face creep up. It gave me away, and I was thankful he wasn't looking at me.
It sucked that I'd been unconscious when all the carrying from room to room and holding me in his arms happened. After that, I vowed never to smoke pot again.
It ruined all my fun.
"So," I said, switching awkwardly from foot to foot.
"So..." He raised his brows, "what?"
"So, what happens now?"
He shrugged. "Beats the fuck out of me, Kid."
It was weird. How do you ask someone if you could live with them? But more than that, the question that plagued me was, did I even want to live with him? I know that living out on the streets wasn't all that desirable, but could I move in?
I wasn't sure about anything anymore. All this running away business seemed so simple a few months back. Now, I didn't know what I was doing, and if it weren't for the backpack full of mementos from home to remind me, I wouldn't even know who I was.
"Shit," I cursed. "I'm so stupid."
"What is it?" he asked.
I sighed. "I left my backpack at Jake's."
"You did what now?"
"It was stupid, I know…I just…"
My sleep deprivation was rearing its ugly head.
He laughed. "That's a fucking understatement." He stood up, grabbed his shirt off the table, and put it on. "So, what was in it, anything worth saving?"
"I had some clothes in there and personal items from home. Like, my diary, pictures of Renee, and an expensive locket that I hoped to pawn later."
"Yes then?" he asked, picking up his gun, pulling out the clip, and glancing at it briefly before putting it back. He stuffed the gun into his waistband.
He was grabbing his wallet and putting on his shoes when what he was about to do dawned on me.
"Wait, you're not thinking of going over there, are you?"
"It doesn't look like I got much of a choice, Kid. You need your things. It shouldn't be a problem. Are you ready to go?"
I narrowed my eyes in disbelief. "Are you serious?"
"What's the problem? Do you need eat something first? We can stop and get something on the way."
"No, that's not what I mean. I can't go back there, Edward. He'll kill me. Remember? That's what you said. So I go back there empty-handed, and I'm dead."
"Not with me there to protect you," he said, reaching down and grabbing another gun from the side table drawer. "Trust me."
Jesus, how many weapons do they have stashed in this apartment?
"Trust you? I don't even know you."
He looked hurt by that statement. "What do you mean you don't know me? I'm the guy who could've killed you, but took you into his home instead. What else is there to know?"
"You wouldn't have killed me," I said, glancing away from his penetrating green eyes and not all that convinced.
"No, maybe not, but the point is that I could have."
He was teasing me now, and I couldn't stop smiling at him.
"Just like I could have stolen your car?"
He chuckled, throwing his arm around my neck and pulling me towards the front door. "Nah, not even close, but don't you worry, I'm going to teach ya."