A/N: Thanks so much for your wonderful thoughts!
Yes, I missed a couple of updates. But here are two chapters in one, again, to make up for it. :)
Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. All mistakes are mine.
Chapter 7 – The Basement
Forks, Washington: October 30, Present
"Edward!"
The name expels from my lips as I wake with a gasp, something that's become a habit over the past couple of days and nights. The bedroom is shrouded in darkness, only a sliver of moonlight peeks in through the curtains, like a pale hand extended toward my frame. My heart races. My chest heaves. My pulse thrums. All these reactions have also become commonplace on my waking. I grip my hair.
"Come on, Bella. It was just another dream."
The last few moments of the dream flash through my mind:
I was in the woods, cocooned by fog and darkness and embraced by-
Embraced by…
Squeezing my eyes shut, I shake my head, though I'm not sure whether I'm trying to shake the entire dream out of my skull, to forget the whole damnable series of events – events which I can only recall in bits and pieces anyway – or if I'm trying to remember all of it, every image that abandons me, that disappears into ether upon my waking.
It's peculiar; even bits of these dreams leave me with a queasy sensation in the pit of my stomach, with a sense of nausea in my throat as if something horrible is about to happen. Yet sometimes, such as now, I wake with a sense of warmth, of excitement and anticipation as if…as if something wonderful is about to happen.
"So fucking confusing," I mutter. Then, with a sigh, I tap the cell phone's screen on my nightstand. It's only as the phone's bright white numbers light up and inform me that it's just past three in the morning that it hits me:
Edward isn't in bed.
"Edward?"
The moment I'm done calling out his name, he appears by the bedroom door in his boxer briefs. The moonbeams silhouette his solid frame, like stage lights purposely placed to highlight where one's eyes should focus. His eyes stand out, the whites almost as brilliant as the glowing numbers on my phone screen, the irises and pupils as one, and both as dark as an ocean at midnight. Those eyes…they remind me of-
"Bella, everything okay?"
Before the memory can fully take root, Edward approaches. He crawls into bed, spreading himself over me, his palms on either side as he hovers above my frame. That dark gaze locks on my gaze, and whatever balanced precariously at the tip of my thoughts tumbles over into an abyss.
"Where were you?" I ask.
He folds his arms at the elbows and carefully lines his frame with mine. "In the basement."
I wrap my arms around his shoulders. "What were you doing in the basement?"
His hand rakes through my hair, eyes involved in the action of each fingertip. "Taking care of rats."
"In the middle of the night?"
He meets my eyes again. "Best time to subdue vermin is when they're groggy."
"Gross," I snort. "But it makes sense."
When he brushes his soft lips against my forehead, back and forth, then skims down my temple and to my jaw, I make my confession.
"I had another dream."
"I figured," he murmurs, his mouth ghosting from one end of my mouth to the other without actually meeting it. "I could see it in your eyes. Do you want to talk about it?"
When I shake my head, his gaze tightens infinitesimally, though he attempts to hide his disappointment behind a weak smile. How would I explain to him, to my husband, that, in dreams that seem to take place over three hundred years ago, I find myself falling in love so deeply that I feel that love in my bones, even when I'm awake? Even if I can't recall who I'm falling in love with – other than for his crimson eyes? Yet, awake or asleep, he imprints himself on my soul. And it doesn't mean I love Edward any less. It's just…
It's fucking insane, is what it is.
Which is why I can't share it, not yet, at least. Not until I understand it.
Edward rests his head on my chest. For a long while, we just lie there while I play with the silky strands of his hair and while his hands skim up and down my spine.
"We've always shared everything," he says into the stillness of the night.
It's not an accusation, more like a reminder.
"I know, my love. But I feel as if this is something I've got to figure out on my own before I share it with you."
"I know," he breathes. "I do know that. Your mind, Bella…is the most amazing thing," he murmurs. "I fell in love with your mind before I fell in love with every other part of you. It's always had the ability to organize, analyze, philosophize…and compartmentalize in ways my mind will never fully comprehend."
"So you're saying women are smarter than men?" I smile.
He chuckles, though his mirth sounds bland, diluted. "That's not where I was going, but yeah, sure. We can make that conclusion. The day you all finally run the world, it'll be a much better place."
"Might take another century or so," I tease, winding a few strands of his hair around my finger. "Not sure you and I will be around for that."
"Mmm," he hedges, "I'd like to bet we will."
"Such a forward thinker," I chuckle in return, tugging his hair with a bit more vigor.
"What I was trying to get at is that your mind has always awed me, Bella. It has the strength required to be brave. The bravery required to be curious. The curiosity required to be defiant. And the defiance required to be compassionate."
By the time he's done, my eyes sting. Yes, our relationship is unapologetically physical, but it's the melding of our minds that keeps Edward and me perpetually enthralled with one another.
"It's an honor to be seen that way by the individual you love."
He looks up. "It's always been my honor to be the…individual you chose to love, the one granted the privilege of…"
Edward continues, but for a few seconds, I lose focus of his words. Instead, it's something he said before that echoes, yet with a slightly different take.
'Thy mind awed me, for I could see thy bravery, thy lack of fear giving way to open curiosity…a curiosity that defied all convention…yet that curiosity lacked not for compassion…'
When I blink, whatever it was, is gone.
And Edward is easing himself between my legs. He hisses, biting his lip as his forehead creases, watching himself slowly slide inside. When he's all the way in, he releases a long "Ahhh" around a lustful grin. Meanwhile, I arch my back, welcoming him as we begin our rhythmic back and forth, our give and take, our physical manifestation of everlasting love.
OOOOO
The next time I wake, it's to a ringing doorbell. Edward's muffled voice mixes with an unknown voice. I open my eyes to a rare, bright morning, and soon Edward returns to bed. He slides in, lying on his side, propping his head up on an elbow and facing me.
"Bella?"
I chuckle. "Why do you say my name as if you're not sure who you're addressing? Were you expecting to wake up next to someone else?" I tease.
A flicker of something flashes across his features, and his jaw seems to tighten. But then he brushes his mouth against my forehead and pulls back with a smile, so I must've imagined it.
"God friggin' forbid. You okay?"
"Why do you ask me that every time I wake up lately?"
His eyes hold mine, but he skips over the inquiry. "I've got a better question. Care to explain the dozen or so boxes just delivered by Amazon?"
"Oh. That."
"Yeah, that."
"I ordered a few things yesterday," I say with a shrug, inspecting my nails and fidgeting with my rings.
"Leave those alone," he breathes, taking my hand. "And a few things?"
"We were out of absolutely everything! We had no food or toiletries!"
"No food or toiletries," he says, smirking as if I've just said we were out of random crap.
"There was no soap, no toothpaste, no Halloween candy for tomorrow," I stress, still in disbelief that we allowed our household supplies to dwindle to nil. "Thank goodness for Prime! Imagine if we had no candy for the trick-or-treaters? Our neighbors would think us absolute monsters!"
He laughs hardcore at that one, peals of mirth causing him to hold his well-defined stomach, which contracts attractively. "Yeah, that's what would cause our neighbors to see us as monsters." And despite the weird joke, I laugh along with him because abruptly, he appears more carefree than I've seen him in…a few days, at least.
"Plus, if Ness and Jake are coming tomorrow, we've got to have food in the house."
Here, his chuckles cease, though they give way to a soft smile and a nod that, all in all, isn't a bad alternative.
"Yeah. Yeah, with Nessie…and Jake coming up to Forks, we do need supplies."
I vaguely wonder about the momentary note of distaste in his tone when he mentions Jake and the undeniable gentleness circling Nessie's mention. Abruptly, as occurred in the middle of the night, although Edward keeps talking, my mind wanders to something else. Instead of hearing his current words, a strange image, a scene that seems much more recent, flashes through my mind…
Edward has his arms tightly wound around Nessie's shoulders while her arms circle his waist. He whispers in her ear, his expression infused with so much tenderness…
'She'll be okay," he breathes, stroking her hair. "You know she will. She's strong-willed, and as long as she keeps those-"
"Bella?"
"Sorry, what?" I ask, blinking back to the present.
"What happened?" he asks.
"Nothing," I smile. "I just…had a strange thought that made no sense. Anyway," I smile brightly, "it was nothing. Just be grateful you have a wife who thinks of things like keeping the house stocked."
"I'm always, always grateful for my wife."
"Good. Now, go get dressed for the day. I…I think I'm staying home again today."
For a few seconds, Edward just watches me. He hangs his head, shaking it from side to side. When he looks up, so much terror is encased in his gaze that his eyes look almost…crimson, his expression almost wild.
"Hey," I say gently, cupping his face in one hand and frowning. "Hey, don't get like that, my love. It's nothing to-"
"Bella, your nightmares," he interrupts, placing his hand over mine and weaving our fingers together as if he's trying to keep me from running, "your strange thoughts, your moments of confusion. I know you want to- I know you're supposed to-" – he cuts himself off, and bangs an open palm against the mattress, though the action seems controlled, even in his undeniable irritation.
"They're just nightmares, my love," I smile, sitting up in bed and pushing him so that his back flattens against the mattress. He observes me warily as I hover above him. "People have bad dreams and strange thoughts sometimes, Edward. There's no reason for so much worry."
He swallows, Adam's apple bobbing vigorously. "People have bad dreams sometimes; yes, Bella. But you and I-"
"I just…I feel like I need one more day to myself, you know?"
His fingers rake through my hair. "One more day, right up to Halloween."
"What?" I chuckle in confusion.
He shakes his head. "Nothing. I'm just talking…" he sighs, "nonsense."
"You know what you need, Edward?"
He quirks a brow and lifts himself on an elbow. "What do I need, Isabella?"
"You need to spend some time with the guys. Why don't you go out with them after work today?" I coax. "Grab some beers at the local pub while you watch the game on the big screen."
He sits up all the way, blinking slowly and deliberately, scrubbing his knuckles against his square jaw.
"You want me to go out for beers with the guys at the pub and watch the game."
"Yeah," I grin. "Get your mind off of me and these strange past couple of days."
"My mind off of you? Never," he retorts fiercely. "As for these past couple of days…" he scours a hand down his face roughly, looking staggered when he pulls it away. "Just one more day of 'You' time, and you'll feel better?"
When I straddle his lap, he grips my hips lightly, his expression now a strange mixture of wariness and hope. "If you stay with me," I whisper, leaning into his ear, "then all we'll do all day is fuck."
He groans, his grip tightening as he pins me to his hard-on, undulating under me. "Where's the problem there?" he breathes huskily.
It builds instantly, but it's always like that between us. Even through the material of our underwear, I feel him thicken, the pipe-like shape of him…his all-consuming fire. Our mouths meet, lips grazing lazily with each pass, heavy breaths the only sound while we rub together and create our brand of friction. He rocks me over him faster, his hips fluid, watching me through eyes that evoke red heat, gaze as intense as that of an…of an eagle, soaring in a black sky. It's almost as if he's part man and part beast and Jesus, the thought exhilarates me all the more. I throw back my head, rocking and panting open-mouthed because even like this…even with scant pieces of clothing between us, he burns. He's an open flame, and I'm the moth, and when he grabs my long hair and winds it around his fist, his other hand latching on my hip, using both as leverage with which to pull me closer and guide me…
"I'm almost there…"
"I know, my love. I can tell. I can always, always tell…"
The smugness in his tone, knowing what he does to me, the way he pulls my hair even tauter, with an edge of roughness amid his tenderness, it all works to fan the flames.
"I'm burning…"
"I know…"
"I'm…
I catch sight of the hair wound around his fist. It's long…and silky…and…blond.
When I cry out, Edward momentarily mistakes it for something else. He grins…the grin almost instantly morphing into horror when I fly off his lap and back up on the bed so fast that my back bangs the headboard.
"What the fuck?" I shriek, grabbing my hair and glaring at it. "What the fuck?"
"Baby," Edward breathes, eyes rounded with fear as he approaches. "Baby, what's wrong?"
"My hair!" I screech. "Look at it!"
"What about your hair?" he shouts.
"Look at it! It's…It's…"
It's dark. It's brown- or auburn. It's the color it's always been.
"It's what, my love? Bella, it's your hair. It's your hair."
"Only it wasn't my hair," I grit through my teeth. "It wasn't my hair." I repeat it over and over. And all the while, Edward remains silent. When I look, his tortured expression inexplicably infuriates me.
"Bella…" A full minute later, he lifts his hand and reaches for me.
I turn away, cradling my head in my hands. "Just go, Edward. I need to be alone."
"I…"
"Go!"
OOOOO
Edward dresses. When he leans in and brushes his lips against my crown, murmuring, "I love you," I wrap my arms around my legs. A few seconds later, I hear the door open and shut, and I close my eyes.
Eventually, I get up. I try to distract myself from my mental turmoil by unpacking our delivery order and putting everything in its place. For a while, it works. My strange dreams, stranger thoughts, and Edward's tortured gaze are all set on backburners in favor of the thrill of organizing one's home. By the time I'm done, it's late morning. But the diversion has served its purpose. My fraying nerves have calmed. I walk around the house, opening fully-stocked cabinets and smiling. When I shut the bathroom's medicine chest and catch my reflection in the mirror, my smile withers.
Blue eyes stare back at me.
I squeeze them shut.
"One…two…three…four…five."
I reopen my eyes.
My reflection stares back at me – dark hair, familiar features, and rounded dark eyes. For a handful of minutes, I stand there, simultaneously waiting for the reflection to change and praying that it doesn't. It's only my stomach's rumbling that pulls me out of my self-imposed trance.
"It's just hunger."
By the time I walk into the kitchen, my mood has improved again. Of course, it's just hunger. Hunger will do these things. Hunger and lack of sleep. Of course, it makes sense.
"Thank goodness for a well-stocked home," I murmur to myself as I pull the fridge door open. Standing there, I bite my lip as I mull over an abundance of choices, settling on the fresh and juicy-looking pack of strawberries. My mouth waters as I pull out the cardboard carton. I rest the container on the counter and run a strawberry under the faucet stream, simultaneously plucking the next one from the container. As I hold the clean berry up to my mouth, I'm momentarily dazzled by just how…scarlet it is. It practically drips with juices tainted by its crimson flesh. My heart races as I pop it into my mouth, chewing…and sighing-
Then heaving it out in a vicious current of regurgitated saliva blended with macerated pulp. By the time I'm done expelling every morsel of the cursed strawberry, my stomach roils. Bitter bile lines my esophagus. I glare hatefully at the masticated pulp and sinews, splattered like mounds of raw meat on my otherwise immaculate kitchen floor.
'The rest of ye shall join them, for she be mine life, and she carries life within her, and the village one and all shall pay for this heinous act…'
I squeeze my eyes shut, and force away the bewildering words and images that just filled my mind. Then I lift my arm and fling the entire pack of strawberries, watching them crash against the previously pristine white wall.
About a half hour later, I've tidied up the mess in the kitchen, cleaned myself up, and dressed in a pair of Edward's sweats and one of his tee shirts. Seated at my living room desk, I finish composing the email to the local market.
…entire order was rancid.
"Better give me a fucking refund," I mutter, slamming the laptop shut.
My stomach rumbles, reminding me of my hunger. As I stare out of the window, I ponder where to go next in my quest for a decent meal. It's gray and gloomy again; whatever rays of sun peeked through early this morning now hide behind pewter clouds and smoky skies. The thought of stepping out doesn't appeal, so I turn to considerations of placing another food order – from somewhere other than the local market or from the café from which I ordered yesterday's disgusting breakfast. Although…
Although…the delivery boy smelled rather delicious. Perhaps he'd just made a delivery to a lucky customer, someone who ordered something that was properly seasoned and prepped. At the thought, my stomach rumbles again. It's louder now, demanding satisfaction. The discomfort I've felt all morning morphs into an ache. Saliva pools in my mouth, and I've got to swallow it down before I drool all over my laptop.
Maybe…maybe if I place another order…specify that I'd like the young boy to choose an item for me, then personally make my deliv-
My phone buzzes.
"Bella? Everything okay?" Alice asks as soon as I answer the call.
"Let me guess. Edward called you," I say, pursing my lips.
She doesn't reply right away. "We're just worried." Again, she hesitates, and clears her throat. "Maybe I should come over?"
"Why does everyone think I need to be fucking babysat?"
And I know I sound like a bitch. I do know it. But between my dreams, my thoughts, and my growing hunger, my patience is running thin.
"No one thinks you need to be babysat, sweety. We want to make sure you're okay."
"I'm just fine," I snort. "Starving, exhausted, and going fucking crazy. Other than that, I'm peachy."
Alice snorts. But then, in barely above a whisper, she asks, "What are you hungry for, Bella? I mean, forget the fridge and the pantry and the market and the café down the street. Maybe if you think hard about what you really want to eat..."
My brow furrows. "How'd you know I was thinking of placing an order from the café?"
"I didn't," she answers simply. "I just know you won't find anything in that café to satisfy your appetite."
"Yeah? Then, what do you suggest, Miss Know-it-all?"
"I suggest…you take a nap, Bella. Unlike Edward, I can accept that the only way to get you back- back in a better mood, is to let everything take its course."
"I don't even know what the fuck that means," I say, resting my head in my hand and my elbow on the desk, "but I am exhausted." I sigh. "Maybe another nap will help."
"I think it will – eventually."
OOOOO
Again, I wake with a hitch of breath. This time, I drifted to sleep with my head on top of my desk. When I check the time on my watch, I realize with some perturbance that I've been knocked out for a few hours. Stretching my arms over my head, I roll my head from side to side, sighing in gratitude when surprisingly, nothing feels tight or aching. Still, despite the long nap and Alice's suggestion, my bad mood continues.
Also, my hunger. It hasn't diminished, not one iota. If anything, the stomach ache has grown, which might account for the unabated state of my foul temper. With another breath, I look up, my eyes landing on the window facing out on a late, nebulous afternoon. The approaching darkness turns the glass before me into a mirror.
A mirror that reflects a pair of red eyes shining behind me.
'Mine love…'
I shut my eyes, more befuddled than afraid, while images bombard me…
We run through the woods, laughing and kissing. We sit in a meadow, his head on my lap while we talk. We make love in a small, dark bedroom, and he grips my hips while I ride him slowly, his red eyes shining.
'Soaring Eagle…I'm almost there…'
'I know, my love. I can tell…'
A scream of fury catches in my throat, but when I turn around so quickly that my chair scrapes across our wood floors, no one is there. I wrap my arms around myself to ward off the ice…the sudden sense of loss settling in my chest.
"It's just your imagination," I tell myself, shivering again, cold now – so cold it feels as if I should be able to see my breath swirl before me. But I don't see it. Frowning, all my thoughts now revolving around cold, I make my way to the house's thermostat. When the control screen displays an internal home temperature of forty-eight degrees Fahrenheit, my head reels back.
"What the hell? No wonder I'm fucking freezing."
For the next few minutes, I press and hit a bunch of buttons and numbers on the screen, but the entire HVAC system seems to be on the blink.
"Come on!" I growl, finally banging an open palm on the entire screen – which ends up cracking. "Aw, fuck! What a weak piece of garbage!"
I realize I'm going to have to go into the basement and do things manually, the old-fashioned way, so I make my way to the garage in search of a flashlight. Of course, a flashlight is just another item we don't seem to own.
"Come on, man," I bemoan. Huffing, I turn on my cell phone's flashlight, stomping to the door under the staircase.
When I pull it open, the cell phone's flashlight throws a series of shadowy shapes against the opposite wall, the rest a black abyss that seems to lead nowhere. I'm struck by a memory again, this one wholly unlike the ones which have plagued me over the past few days. Yet, in its own way, it's more disturbing.
'We've got rats in the basement?'
'Of course, we've got rats in the basement…'
"Dear Lord, please don't let me see rats. The last thing I need right now is to see rats."
Taking a step over the door' threshold, I yank the chain that should turn on the lone lightbulb. Nothing happens. I roll my eyes.
"Of course, the light's not working."
Slowly, I take the steps down, listening intently beyond their whiny creak, beyond the furious staccato of my heart. A couple of times, I stop, thinking I've heard tiny, scurrying feet. But then…nothing. No sound. Eerily no sound. It's almost as if I've entered a void where sound does not exist.
All the while, those scarlet eyes…I see them in my mind, framed by darkness, boring into my eyes.
'Mine love…'
"It was just a dream."
When I reach the bottom step, I pause again to listen. When I hear absolutely nothing, I draw in a breath and command my feet forward, one step at a time, right foot, then left foot. There are a few cobwebs on the large electronic HVAC system, but thankfully no spiders. No vermin are around either. Nothing creeps or crawls around. Swiping at the cobwebs, I clean my hand off on Edward's sweatpants and quickly get to work. It doesn't take long to find the issue.
"Why the hell is the pilot off?"
Luckily, I'm also able to make quick work of relighting it. When it roars to life, I grin. Mission accomplished, I make my way back to the steps.
That's when I hear it.
It comes from somewhere behind me…from behind the closed door to Edward's tool room, to be exact. Slowly, I turn my head, peeking over my shoulder while images of thousands upon thousands of clawed little feet, of scurrying legs, of beady eyes and sharp teeth, invade my mind. When I shine my phone's flashlight, I see there's a large padlock on the door, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Let the little fuckers scurry all they want behind the locked door. I turn back to the steps.
But the sound…it catches my attention again.
It demands it.
Vermin…rats scratch at doors. They scurry. They've got dozens or hundreds or thousands of creepy little feet.
This sound is muffled as if it's being suppressed, as if its mouth is covered.
'Isabella…you must…you must set me…'
The next thing, I'm standing in front of the locked door and shining my flashlight on the padlock, wondering where I can find an ax-
My phone buzzes, waking me as if from a walking dream…a trance.
A trance in which I apparently imagined a voice.
Sprinting back to the staircase, I race up the steps, tripping halfway up in my haste. I increase my speed, and when I reach the door, I slam it behind me so hard that the wood frame splinters and cracks.
"This house is a mess," I say to myself, resting my back against the cracked door as I answer the still-buzzing phone.
"Bella, is everything okay?"
"Edward, why was our heating system's pilot off?"
He doesn't reply immediately. "Was it?"
"Yes."
"I didn't realize that."
"We had no heat. I went down to light it and-"
"You went down to the basement." It's more a statement than a question. "I thought we discussed you're not going down to the basement. Because of the rats."
"I heard them."
"What did you hear?"
"The rats in your tool room."
There's a long moment of ponderous silence. Thunder rumbles outdoors. The house shakes.
"I'll be home soon, Bella. Don't…don't go down there, okay?"
I swallow hard. Then, I end the call.
A/N: Thoughts?
Chapter Song Rec: Enjoy the Silence, covered by Denmark + Winter (originally by Depeche Mode)
Words like violence
Break the silence
Come crashing in
Into my little world
Painful to me
Pierce right through me
Can't you understand?
Oh, my little girl
All I ever wanted
All I ever needed
Is here in my arms
Words are very unnecessary
They can only do harm
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"See" you soon!