Chapter 64 - Particle By Particle

Glasses on his nose.

No one, in a million years, would convince young, loud, popular Bella from years ago that glasses on a nose would be her kryptonite. Well… she thinks, what's the positive effect of kryptonite? She Googles it, pretending to look busy at her kitchen table while Edward reads beside her.

Oh, right. There isn't. How ridiculous of her. But there are weakened knees, flushed cheeks, wings in her belly, and a full heart about to burst over every turn of events. Just in a spectacular way, this event is quiet time while Elliot naps midday.

Bella has her books out to study for finals all over the table. The internship in Boston was last summer. This summer, she'll be reporting back research to the lab and to her mentor in Boston as freelance work. Sue will provide an internship of sorts at her association for the reservation. That's what Bella planned. Now she peeks over at glasses and knows her summer will be exceptionally different.

She's a mess dealing with him this close … him looking at his book and occasionally at her. She feels his eyes over the top, behind the pages. He turns the last page, and that's all that makes a sound in a quiet room.

Bella stands suddenly. He looks up. She pauses dumbly, then walks passed toward that room. The one she made for a guest … well, him. Who is she kidding? She offered it, but since it wasn't snatched up, it's a 'guest room' now. How mortifying. She rolls her eyes. Sighs. She skims the spines. She grabs two. No, maybe three. He's such a fast reader, and this should do.

She brings them to the table.

"The offer is still up, you know. Empty room full of books," she teases as a point. He lets his fingers skim the covers she's brought. He gives her a look but turns to the book. Oh, he's interested. But very, very adamant. He needs a plan first. That's next.

He picks a book up and begins that one. He's engrossed quickly, pushing his glasses over his nose.

Bella bites her lip, trying not to draw blood.

She could pounce.

Right this second.

He stayed today. Well, it's not like he has a choice. He'd probably be gone for the day by now. It's routine. He comes early in the morning, hesitantly eats breakfast while watching Elliot eat his, then hours of The Elliot show, whatever that might be. But today, a very pushy, and a very pink, puffy pout begged for him to be here when he awakes. Elliot is slowly wrapping Edward around his little finger.

So, he waits. And it's … a moment. A very delicate one that could crumble if the room has a slight atmospheric change. Bella holds her breath. Ergo books to keep him here. She wants him here. Always. He just can't hear her internal monologues that many times are silent cries of begging.

But she's calm. Bella is nothing but an ice cube on the outside. A cucumber? She Googles something similar to how she feels. She closes the tab lightning-fast—no more searches of cucumbers.

She sighs, flips through her own textbook pages after a moment of focused work. She talks to herself, more like murmurs out of frustration. Edward glances up at her.

"This author was in such a state of mind; I wonder if he was even happy in life!" She grumbles.

Edward frowns. The slight pucker on her lips and pink cheeks makes her look … lovely, in contrast. "Satisfied with himself is how I would describe him," he says.

Bella looks up, surprised.

"You know him? This?" She points to the material. He does. He, unfortunately, came across an early edition years back. He had no choice. He says this—just the choice part.

"Oh." Bella is floored. She watches him intently as he goes about his business, the pages under his nose, like it's nothing.

She tests him. "Okay, so what was the conclusion?"

His lip quirks. "It's your studies. Wouldn't want to keep you from enjoying the frustrations to the end."

She rolls her eyes. "Maybe it's cheating a little, but I'd also like to know your thoughts." She's … giddy over this exchange.

He shrugs as he flips through another page of his book. "It was flat. I agree. Well thought through, but in the end, he figured out he didn't … figure it out. He literally ended it with a question."

Bella stares at him, narrowed eyes. She discreetly flips the book to the last page. The question mark staring back at her. She pales. She glances at him from under her lashes and back at the book. She shifts in her seat, flips to the rest of the footnotes, then back.

That's it.

Question mark.

Fuck.

"I found him boring, too." He tries, softening the blow.

"God, I hope Elliot takes after you." She slams the book shut.

She stands to try lunch. Edward watches after her, taking in her words. He finds himself smirking a bit.

Bella opens the cupboards, the fridge. "Lunch? I never get to make you something around this time. I hope you're eating enough." She mentions.

He doesn't say anything. But he's listening. Book down, his fingers picking at something on his knuckle. He makes a face like a shrug is a lot of work, and you don't care to move your shoulders.

Bella sighs. He must be hungry. He never asks. Not that he would. Sometimes he leaves for the day at this time. Sometimes he comes back, and Bella imagines he finds something to eat.

She can't help but glance his way, and he's staring off into space. He's off today. Well, he's been off since the Cullen visit. That was days ago. Bella is back to her classes, which means Elliot is gone for the day, and so is she. Edward sinks back into his routine and only comes when he sees the warm lights on in the kitchen during evenings. Sometimes he doesn't come. And Bella desperately wonders, then acts like she didn't cry herself worried once he's standing on the patio. Today is the weekend. He came early.

"I … might come late tomorrow," he speaks up.

Bella looks back.

"All right." She replies, a little confused. She's taken. He's never shared his schedule with her. She budges the can of soup, but her mind is on that. She notices his expression. He looks like something's eating him inside. A grand puzzle he's pulling together.

"What are you going to do?" Bella pauses. "You also don't have to answer that." She grins.

"Have to talk to Emmett and Erik. Figure things out." He says ominously.

Bella nods. "That's nice." That's … interesting, intriguing, suspenseful, is what. "Send your Mom my apologies for not making it tomorrow. Gotta catch up on homework," she says instead of spewing all her questions.

She knows his mother talked to him, in that living room that day, alone. Words were said. Bella will never ask.

What she doesn't know is how strongly Elizabeth spoke to her son. She and his father didn't work hard in life to have their son live dependently on others the way he was. They raised men to be hard workers. She said to shape his life, or it'll shape a hole in the ground his size—at the hands of nature or the law. With all the fire a mother has inside, she told him to pick one.

Just know both aren't a true choice, but prison.

Edward remembers the words every waking moment. He knows. She didn't have to repeat them. He lives taking those chances, knowing. But what are mothers who don't repeat warnings anyway? His never had to, but she did. So he listened because her eyes bore into him, and the reprimand was rare.

She did say something else. Something that crawled in and has stayed despite the redundancy. That something else was how she told him to let that girl help him, and to help her right back. He has a new dependent now. A small one. A smaller version of him who had no fault in any of this.

You have to exist in a world you can't tolerate, Edward Anthony Cullen. Many do. Find a way, whichever, but a healthy one.

He could see Boss in those words. An old man living alone, but he owned that farm. He worked for it; his biceps bulged as he did tasks. Edward sees himself like that, a smaller version. His muscles protested too, his forehead sweat with the exertion. He did that. He can do more. If anything, he craves the handy work of being occupied for over a year on a farm. His muscles crave the motions. They ache to move.

"You know, I'm not tying you here." Bella takes him from his thoughts. "I'd never do that. There's no obligation. And that … was just a gesture of inclusion." She says about the room. "I mean, I'd love to have you here. I would strap you in that chair if it were up to me. Possibly to do my homework." She smiles. He doesn't really.

Edward is thoughtful.

But she wonders if there's more, more he'd be willing to tell her. She won't ask a hard question she knows he's not ready to answer, but she sifts through a better way to word things.

"It's hard to figure out what to do … with new things. We're all trying to figure it out. That's why I am not expecting a lot. I wasn't expecting … him." She nods over at Elliot's bedroom. "It was you and me that night," she says blushingly. "And … I wanted it all. But if I chose? I would've been careful. I don't think you deserve what I've put on you. And as immature as I was," she says, rolling her eyes. "I don't think I deserved it either. Elliot sure doesn't deserve it.

"So … I won't expect you, unknowing all this time, to suddenly … have it all figured out."

Edward lets that sink in. "You'd assume I wouldn't acknowledge him?" he asks.

Bella stares at him, not able to answer.

"You'd think me that way?" he asks again.

Bella leans a hip against the kitchen counter. She's frozen.

"I don't know." It's honest.

He shakes his head slightly. "Then, you don't know me," he says. Bella holds her breath. "You know my mother, my dear sister, my childhood bedroom. But you don't know me."

Bella lets out a breath. She clamps teeth on the inside of her cheek and tries to keep the sudden tears at bay. He's right. She thinks she does, but few details aren't enough.

Her hand falls at her side, defeated. "I tried." A shaky reply. "It was hard. Still is. I suspect I'll always be in the dark just slightly, strides behind you, never catching up."

He gives a nod, looking at his boot over his knee where he sits.

"If you know my family..." he says. "Then you have to know I'm not a result of abuse or a dysfunctional home, or whatever else makes people assume that, how I am, is because of a defective past. I chose this life. I did whatever it took to get what I needed. To … stay away. To be alone.

"But what I'd never do is disregard a piece of me, that's blood. That's not how I was raised. Don't undermine me. Don't accommodate me. Don't tiptoe over this imaginary glass around me. I'm not impaired or inept."

A lesson learned, even for her own studies. Bella holds back a chuckle of disbelief. Never underestimate a person like Edward. He's quiet, but he's there. He's present. He's listening when she thinks he isn't. He's a human. Simple as that.

"Okay. Fine. I'll be frank."

He folds his hands over his middle like he's all ears, daring her. She can see that old spark in him, the one that was rough and harsh toward her.

"You left the farm for reasons only you know. You're wandering aimlessly now. You have been for … a decade. So, what now? Will you go back to how it was? Taking, getting by with crumbs, all to keep the sacred rules you live by? You're inevitably willing to get caught, or worse, die for it? On the run. Gray and old. For the rest of your life? What will you do now that everything changed the moment you climbed that window?

His jaw tightens. His eyes flicker away.

"Let me be fair." She waves a nervous hand, starting over. She scratches her head, trying to wordsmith. "What was your plan after leaving the farm, before you stepped in here unaware? What did you truly want? It couldn't have been simply keeping your water bottle full at every stop. Camping out for … the rest of your days."

She watches him for an answer he truly doesn't have, but suddenly she wants to say more. Lay it all out.

"Look ..." She jumps back in. "I know I was forward in the beginning. I pushed you when you just wanted to be left alone. I came to you those summer days and made you talk to me. I was completely over my head and naive. I set us both up for … something unforeseeable and permanent—not a mistake, I'd never say that about Elliot—but definitely a huge responsibility. I did that.

"And it shames me to ...," she says, her voice breaking. "To stand here and present to you a son, and not feel completely and utterly shitty about it. Like, now I'm forcing you to choose."

"Bella…"

She covers her eyes briefly to cry—her breath hitching. And the way he says her name, she's not quite used to it yet. She feels him stand and come close. And then that suddenly adds to her desperation.

She'd like to run away to drown in her guilt and mortification.

Her wrist is enveloped and her eyes are uncovered. She looks up at this man she's terribly in love with. So much. He doesn't even know how much.

"I made that bed, I laid in it, too," he defends.

Bella laughs. Tears coming down, she's a mess, and she laughs at that literal visual: old stacked books, expensive sheets in a tent.

She nods, sniffling. "You did, didn't you?" She wipes at endless streaks. Her hand lands on that heart of his again as he takes a step. She goes in and boldly leans her filled and exhausted head on his shoulder. It feels right. And finally, she knows how Elliot feels in the mornings, why he stays here for long minutes.

This embrace is notably familiar for Edward. All the gut feelings and nerve endings sparking. He held her like this that night, didn't he? Their lips touched, and he pressed her close—before it escalated. He wanted her, and he never thought a feeling like that would matter to him.

Well, this is something new to him, too, he guesses; hugs on his agenda are plenty these days. His arms catch up to his thoughts; they react and curl around her. Two beings so alike; mother and son. They both feel the same in his arms. He finds the need to hold tighter this time.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I ruined your life."

He listens. He silently thinks that's ridiculous. How does someone else actively ruin another's life?

With a faint grunt, she feels it vibrate against her chest; she knows a response will come. "No," he says. "It's mine to ruin. I might've already. You cared to listen, to ask things. I didn't think it mattered until you came."

"You detested me," she says amusingly.

"I did." He says bluntly. He can't deny that. Every morning, waking up to her in his camp, butting into his life, messing up his system, rustling leaves that were covering his tracks just perfectly. It made him slowly go mad.

Bella lets out a laugh through her stuffy nose.

"And now you're letting me hug you. That's how much you've changed. I can barely recognize you, Edward Anthony Cullen. And I missed the moment it happened." She tries with a saddened smile he can't see.

Edward doesn't reply. Maybe he's too lost in the scent he finally gets to take in, anticipating since the moment he walked in. He's been thinking about it.

He turns his nose into her hair.

She steps away and straightens herself, none the wiser. "Sorry." She apologizes for lingering.

He digs his hands in his pockets and watches her wipe her cheeks. They look lovelier in that shade of rose, he thinks. He hands her a napkin from its rack, and he wonders if that woman, Sue, had never walked in through the patio that day, spotting her reflection on the stove, would he have let Bella do more than warm his chest? Maybe he's missed something familiar for once. Warm, constant, and familiar. She's absolutely right.

What's his aim? He's gutted.

"So … I don't know you, huh?" She says with a nod, a quirk of her lips. "Then stay." She looks into his eyes. "If you want me to know you, stay for lunch. Stay for dinner. Stay for an obnoxious movie Elliot has seen a thousand times and picks it anyway. Stay and watch it with us tonight. And … every night." She challenges.

He takes her in, in all her vulnerability, and he can't imagine anything more inviting over sticks and rocks at his back where he sleeps outside those doors. He never does go far. He's always been close enough to see the house, getting glimpses of her and the boy through glowing windows. She doesn't know.

He wants to stay. Because he watches from the outside, and he wants to know what happens on the inside. The curiosity bears down so strongly. He's rapt.

So he obliges.

His stomach happily full, his attention absolutely captured the entire day by a joyous boy, who woke from his nap and came running to check if he kept his promise. After a ride on Edward's shoulder, per their routine, a short walk outside to explore and fetch more firewood for the fireplace, a slippery spaghetti dinner, Edward sits by Bella to watch the sacred movie.

Elliot manages to be everywhere at once. On Edward's lap, on the carpet to dance, between them on the couch, little feet digging into the cushions, or splayed on both his parents' laps when he grows calm and quiet.

But the very attentive stares come from the woman to his right, catching glimpses of him every now and then, the animated colors of the TV brightening his engrossed expression of it, possibly the first movie he's watched in ages. And every time she does look at him, he feels different inside. Just a particle moving aside, allowing more room for invitations.

Elliot falls fast asleep between them. His head and little body slumped over his father's chest where he ended up. Bella wants to laugh as Edward's eyes blink slowly too. Their lips and eyes settling for sleep the very exact same way. Her heart a loud thump only she can hear through her ears.

She reaches over and lays her hand on his fist. He looks up, and she motions to the sleeping one. Edward glances down at that piece of him, his blood, as he described—she will keep that phrase close to her heart for the rest of her life—then he glances at her hand on his.

She pulls away, curling her fist onto her lap.

He simply reaches over with the hand not pinned under Elliot, grabs hers, and places it back where it was.

There, another invitation.

Speechless, Bella could just die here. She eases the tension off her shoulders, burrows back into the couch, and relaxes into this moment. Her hand takes the chance and slithers comfortably between his fingers.

For the rest of the movie, though the ending credits, and as the Hollywood version of the theme song plays, they stay entwined like this. Her own wondrous song playing inside her as each digit is explored between her fingers. His nail beds. The soft and hard edges of hard work from a farm. The very center of his palm, she softly dabs at and follows the creased lines, then woven fingers as an ending note.

She is getting to know him. He's left with numbing sparks through the touch, zipping through his body. And she's so soft.

Just a squeeze this time makes Edward turn to look at her. She motions to stand and deposit the ball of slumber in his arms into his bed.

He does the work. He lays Elliot out, adjusting his little arms and legs. He pulls the covers over him and watches for a moment as he sleeps.

He steps out and closes the door enough behind him. That patio door his exit—rain dripping down the panes and glass. A cold night he'll walk out to. But Bella sneaks past him and stands there, back pressed to the doors, blocking his way out.

"You're tired. You should sleep." She nods, feigning a frown.

Edward stands there in the middle of the room. His slightly narrowed eyes roaming over her, head to toe. He gets it. Loud and clear.

Fine. He humphs, and he moves.

Without a word, he walks deep into the house to get to that room with the books assigned to him.

"See you in the morning. Sleep tight," Bella calls after him, the smuggest smug pulling through her voice.

She doesn't know he does have a good night, though it takes hours as he thinks about everything in loops. Her tears. Her agony over guilt. He never thought she felt that way. He doesn't know what to do with all of this. He's afraid he might not have the capacity. That worries him.

He thinks up solutions as he lies there, boots off, clothes on stretched out over the covers staring up at a ceiling over him for once. His back thanking him, missing the soft landing he's been accustomed to these past few years.

He's indulged. He's softening up. His rough edges sanding down, particle by particle, with every invitation.

…

A/N: Okay, I'm in love with him. There, I said it. Thanks to Beta Fran and Pre-reader Patrizia for enduring these long chaps. They used to be short once, weren't they? 2 of 8 chaps. See you tomorrow? xoxo