A/N: Hello again. Back. Last chapter, Sam saw Edward. He didn't think much of it, but man, was it much of it. This next one starts off in her POV. Just a sneak of her side of the story—the wild, lively one. Thank you to Patrizia for staying with me, and prereading to help make sense of things. Thanks to Frannie for betaing, and always having animated questions. She asked me to tell you, or whoever is interested, that there's a new contest she's running—Crime Crusaders—over at Facebook group: / groups / 364646141068423 (paste that without spaces after .com on your Facebook url. Write a mysterious oneshot. Read others' oneshots. Check it out.
Lots have happened in RL. One of them being birthing a kidney stone, but man, was it great to be out of work to WRITE! More when you hit next. Go read.
Chapter 25 - Visible Cross
BPOV - Months before
Bella sighs. What has become of her life? She had plans, life goals, aspirations to be … well, nothing. She always felt like everyone around her was finding their place, getting to the next milestone; either college, graduating, marrying, 401k. All of it. She never did consider these things.
When you're in high school, those years revolve around worrying about everything. You have to decide what you'll be doing for the rest of your life. Would I become a doctor? A lawyer? A single, career-driven hipster who spends money on drinks and kale, and finds love on an app? At such a young age, you're pushed to make decisions.
Why?
You can barely function as a normal human, let alone decide on which loan you'll get to pay for college.
Bella sits in class and sighs again as the professor speaks to the massive room. Well, she decided on a loan. And now she's here. She sits in class and wonders if all the paperwork was worth it. Because, honestly, she doesn't want to be here. She isn't here. Her mind is elsewhere. Her soul in a clearing. Her heart warm under a quilt.
The tingles. They spread from her spine to the tip of her ring fingers. Vena amoris. She learned about that in human anatomy just last week. It's the single vein on your fourth finger that connects to the heart. They call it the vein of love. It is a sign of connection, which represents an interlacing of love … if a ring looped around that digit. But what the professor, students, and even the people in her life don't know is how he pressed his lips to her palm, right there, his slow surrender as his lips parted and his teeth grazed the skin over her vena amoris. It drove tingles up her arm, connecting to her heart. And she knew it was the best decision she ever made; going back to him.
Bella's eyes drift closed. She lets the visions take place. She burrows into her sweater more and finds the darkness behind her lids her canvas to recreate every breath, every touch, and every kiss they shared.
The bell chimes. The call that signals the hour is up. The class quickly goes into motion, as it stands to disburse. Bella doesn't notice. Because she's right at the moment in her memories where he gripped her tight and let himself be a giving human, not a reserved one. He never set fire in that camp, up until that night. They burned together.
A throat is cleared. One so close. Too close. And it's silent otherwise. Bella jumps. Her eyes wide, caught … because she's been caught.
Her cheeks redden. "S … sorry," she stutters as she piles her notebook on her books.
"You know," the professor begins to say, his blonde hair swept to the side neatly, his smile warm, but there's condescension behind it. "If you ask me, this is the most expensive seat in which to take a nap. All those fees added to tuition didn't include snoozing. Don't waste your precious Benjamins." He chuckles descending the steps to the auditorium.
Bella rolls her eyes as she stuffs her belongings into her bag. Students still millabout waiting at the front of the room for after-class questions. They all watch the awkward moment. She sighs in relief when the attention is off of her, as they talk about human behavior, the subject for today.
Her behavior today isn't one she's used to. This one was new. She's never dozed off in class. Not even in high school. She's exceedingly tired today, this week, for the past few weeks. She's mortified but relieved she's out and walking the corridors.
Ben spots her, and they seem to walk toward one another. Her eyes fluttering are enough where he notices. "You look like shit today." Said eyes roll at him. He shrugs. "Well, you do."
He takes another bite of his sandwich. It's tight in his fist, gripping the lettuce leaves and two bread parts enough so it won't self-destruct, Bella thinks. He is always eating. Always. He eats in the library. In class. Outside the bathrooms, everywhere. She doesn't understand where the calories go since Ben is as thin as he was in high school.
"Your mom made you lunch again?" Bella asks. She doesn't slow her stride. He catches up to her. He sighs.
"I regret giving her my schedule. She comes on campus and waits for me after class. She says, 'Yoo-hoo, Benny! I brought you lunch, your favorite!' And she stands there, and everyone stares."
Bella laughs like nothing mortifying just happened back there.
"I swear I had to jab a few dicks to keep their eyes to themselves. Like … what is her problem?!" He says annoyed, but he takes a bite anyway. Never will Ben refuse free food, or acknowledge that his mother dresses in clothes much smaller than her actual size. Men stare. Men are always interested. Ben; oblivious.
"Well, at least you've got a mother. Be nice, Benny," Bella reminds him with a soft smile. Ben's face goes gray. He nods and lets the sensitive subject go.
He smacks his lips together after sticking his tongue out to get that sucker—the dollop of mayo—back into his mouth. Bella glares, catching the clean sweep. She makes a face.
Her stomach curls, her tongue grows heavy, and suddenly everything reeks. She gags. The basin seems to be a mile away as she runs.
Ben watches a retching Bella bending over a trash bin in the middle of the corridor. He looks around. Some people look over.
Well, there goes his appetite.
He tosses the fistful of mess into the bin she's using. That just makes her go another round, as she heaves louder the moment she sees his sandwich in there.
"You shit," she punches his arm when she straightens. She wipes at her lips with a sleeve. She breathes. "You're disgusting,"
'Me?! You made everyone look."
Of course, she'd be stuck with Ben out of all people in this damn school. Everyone off in their Ivy League programs while Ben and Bella muscle through the mediocre one, a town over.
Between classes, they all meet in the middle at a café, and it doesn't suck as much.
Jen and Lauren are still on shaky ground. Lauren finally caught the tension. Well, it was loud and clear when she bumped into Jen and Riley as he left her cabin that summer; her in a robe, Riley a bit rumpled. She finally understood. And it hurt her. Jen cried for days, losing her best friend over a guy.
It all doesn't matter much now; they both lost him. He's not dead, though they both wish it were the case. Riley left for school to Europe. He, apparently, had made the decision long ago, no matter the girl.
To Lauren, it still matters. A bit. The memory of seeing Jen, her eyes tightly closed as she kissed her boyfriend, looked like something. Deep toe-curling love. She figures Jen is suffering enough.
She can live with that.
So it's two years later, and the girls sit at the same table in the cafe, and they don't talk about it. Just other things. All thanks to Bella's unfortunate event that brought them all together again in that funeral home.
Bella plops herself on the sofa when she arrives at the cafe. The girls both look up from their books.
"Wow," they harmonize. They'd be lying to themselves if they didn't see how similar they are as friends. They could never be mad at one another.
Bella rolls her eyes in chorus.
Ben is in line to buy something else to eat. This time, she will not look at him as he inhales the pastry. Over her dead body.
"Aunt flow, yo," Ben says around a bite as a way of explaining the mess on the sofa. Bella ignores him. The girls chuckle.
"Here," Lauren says, offering a Chapstick from her bag.
"Because that'll fix this?" Jen says, waving a hand at Bella. Lauren shrugs. She's still a bit … clueless if you asked Jen. College life hasn't matured her in the right ways.
Bella suddenly gets the urge to eat the cherry scented balm she is applying to her lips. She pockets the stick while Lauren is looking away.
Lauren starts the tangent for the day. "So, I have this essay on macroeconomics due on Friday …"
This is when Bella drifts off. Her hoodie comes up over her unruly hair and her eyes. This is routine. There's nothing here she can add to. Her classes aren't as complex. It bothers her to hear her friends' curriculum compared to hers. They argue about economics and social subjects like they actually know what they're talking about. It's infuriating to her. How did she end up on this path? Where did she go wrong?
Jen offers a glance her way, and empathy surges. She's told Bella time and again that she lost her mother, and it changed her course. She just needs to rest her mind. She'll get back on track soon. She swears it.
So Bella takes those words and accepts her snail-paced life. Calm comes over her. Usually, what follows is her mind wandering around things that make her feel whole.
It's been a few months, yet her body seems to go back to that place; right between his arms. Those tingles again. The warmth between them as she rolled over him, hooked a leg over his, and with the utmost care and softness, she reached up.
A kiss.
Bella jumps. She flails her arms to get her hoodie off. Jameson's face snaps that way when one of her fists connects. He cringes. He holds his cheek.
"What the shit?" he cries. He leans away from her. He saw her so peaceful when he arrived, he couldn't help but lean in and plant a good one on her red, plump lips.
He licks his. "Mm, cherry."
Bella sighs. Her hand rubs over his face as he sits by her. "Sorry."
"Point taken." Maybe sneaky kisses aren't their forte.
Ben is in stitches.
And if everyone at the table thinks they have to significant work to do, they've got something coming. Jameson pulls out book after medical book from his backpack and then takes his laptop out of another one. He carries two everywhere he goes, and he looks exhausted. Bella counts the bags under his eyes as two extra bags he always carries; she just doesn't tell him.
"What a couple," Jen mumbles sarcastically. The two on the couch do look a similar pair; a mess.
What no one really knows is they've barely been that. Just a pair. Nothing more than that.
Jameson is too busy with medical school to even scope out other options of women. His classes are all full of other tired students trying to make it through the semester. He's loyal. He's a good man. He held Bella's hand while they lowered her mother to the ground. From then on, they never talked about their relationship. Not seriously. Not about the obvious platonic love they have for one another.
Is she just the convenient partner? His closest friend who knows him best? His first? Maybe all of the above. But he still keeps her close to his heart, and close to his bed. It's the unspoken rule they never meant to set. They are good together.
Later, when I their break is over, he offers to take her to her dorm room. He is and will always be a gentleman. Even at the door, when she doesn't open it wide enough for him to come through, he gets it. No luck for him this time. Women need their space. He kisses her again, this time with hesitance and a smile, and tells her he'll see her again tomorrow.
Bella quickly strips and jumps into the shower—no roommate in to interrupt her this early. She pushes aside Alice's mess of opened and unopened boxes of tampons, toothpaste, condoms, and even the counterpart of those; pregnancy tests. She has everything in the bathroom cabinet. There it is, her new, but cheap, drugstore shampoo. Alice sneers at her choices. But Alice is also from old money. She's snotty but shares all her things. Bella knows she's a closeted, nice person.
To dream; that's what Bella seeks when she hurries to crawl into bed. Dreaming is what she rushes home for. It's the only time of day she freely gets to think of him. Like clockwork, she buries her face in her pillow and lets it soak up her tears. Without fail, Bella cries until she falls asleep.
This secret is heavy, too much for her to keep.
Who does she talk to? No one.
Where does she go for answers? Nowhere.
All she has are visuals of him.
Sleep. The only place she can escape to that isn't the woods.
The next morning, when Jameson isn't walking Bella to class like he's used to, he stops, he thinks about it, and wonders why today is different. He turns around to get to Bella's dorm, which is just by the campus.
He dials her number, and it rings and rings. No answer. He knocks and knocks on her door. No answer.
He dials Alice's number next. She picks up, but she hasn't been home all night. Her groggy voice tells him about the hidden spare key over the light fixture. Then he's lecturing her on the world's worst hiding spot.
He shrugs Alice off when she abruptly ends the call. He told her to grow up. She told him to fuck off. It's the typical reaction he gets from her. It doesn't stop him from speaking his mind. He's the one they call when the faucet is leaky, or a spider is found in the kitchen. Shit, they should pay him for maintenance.
"Bella?" he calls. Something awful forms in the pit of his belly. His steps speed up when he doesn't find her. He drops his bags on the floor and runs when he hears her cry. He could spot the sound anywhere, the memory of it against his shoulder, so many times in the past.
Her hair is in disarray, covering half her face. Her nightshirt sags, revealing a creamy shoulder. Her legs are tucked under her where she melted to the floor. The bathroom is dark, and the contents of the cabinet are scattered on the floor.
She's sobbing, and the stick bobs between her fingers with the force. Her hand occupied on her lap, light blue cap, a white, bulky stick with a visible cross in the center.
His knees give out.
He's not ready for this. Maybe he never will be. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. All the internal monologues zip around his brain, but it only takes a second, just before his knees connect with linoleum.
"Bella?" he calls again, different this time.
No way she's going to answer him.
Jameson doubles over, fingers over his shaved head. He grieves silently. His busy life has just turned chaotic. He watches her. He watches her very closely. It takes a moment, but it's inevitable.
"When was your last period?" Jameson—the smart, sharp, empathetic medical student—chimes in.
….