Thank you so much for your gorgeous reviews! So unbelievably grateful and I hope this chapter adds to the excitement!
I must confess I had a semi disaster with the next two pieces- I wrote them all out, fell in love with it and then magically managed to lose it which SUCKS but I've done my best to recreate them to their original piece and I hope they'll be just as great! Thank you!
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I stumble after him into his perfect room and clumsily help to rearrange his bed accordingly. The pillows are set in a diagonal line of pairs down the bed as if he simply threw himself on all of them for purposes of comfort. Saying that-. He rubs the back of his neck into his hair, the thick ends try to curl under as they touch against his shirt collar. He's wearing his grey shirt still and his flimsy shorts- and it still looks good over his tree trunk thighs. Though I have to blink several times to convince myself I'm seeing right. Who knows, maybe I am actually looking at pale, flesh tree trunks.
He distributes the pillows evenly and silently, fluffing the one from his chest to a perfect size before moving it to my side. Now I can't stop looking. His purple under-eyes are a stark contrast to his pale skin and his hands stretch a little as he straightens out his duvet. Every so often, even his body waves just slightly that I think he's going to faint, or maybe I'm going to faint? We're both suddenly untrustworthy on our feet.
'What?' He asks with a forced smile.
Yet again, I jump up a few feet because the tables have turned and I'm the pussy, I find myself feeling paranoid but mostly, err, chill? Like too chill.
'Nothing.'
'Nothing? Why are you staring?'
Fuck.
'I'm not staring, I'm… phasing.' At least that's what I think it's called.
'Phasing?' he repeats, turning my words into a yawn that he tries to politely hide.
'Yeah, phasing. Phasing in and out. Like of reality. I'm tired and I'm hurting head wise- and in other wises, too and I'm phasing-. Like Phase-ily.'
My poor pounding head. I wasn't quite expecting my mouth to come out with that. Apparently he was, because he's smirking.
'My mistake.' He replies, apologetically. 'I thought you were trying to get me to change that revolting bandage for you.' He nods to my thigh where the cloth is turning grey and soggy with everyday grime. Without warning, I gag and shut my eyes closed to avoid looking at it.
'You know what Cullen, why be so rude?! I didn't even say anything and here you are criticising my every phasi-bility-'…
Is that me? That's my voice? Why am I talking, I didn't plan to say anything? My mouth is still moving, why is it still moving? Why won't it just stop-
What the Fuck am I saying?!
His eyes positively burst out their sockets before he reclaims his dignity and raises that eyebrow at me but my roll call of unstoppable sounds keep falling out of the trashcan that is my mouth.
He wiggles an index finger to beckon me towards him but I'm losing my balance so much right now all the while still complaining at him for things that can't be his fault- and complaining at him for things that are his fault like his ass and his tree trunk thighs and his calves- did you ever see a pair of calves so genuinely delectably? I could actually eat them.
Like with my teeth.
My teeth could sink right into that vein and I could chew and the dentist would think I was possibly insane because I would have bits of in between my teeth, because I wouldn't have the type of floss strong enough and so the dentist might call the cops and they'd ask why I have human tissue in my digestive system and I've have to explain that Cullen has this like, ass attitude. Like his ass has an attitude but he has the attitude of an ass to because he's just so-
'-You're just so clever and you bloody-well know it-' I continue to ramble. He steadies my head with two flat palms and squints into my blurry vision.
'Follow my finger.' He instructs with smile and I'm very aware of him staring at both of my wide eyes.
'That's another thing Mister haughty, Mchaughterson, I'm not a child!'
-So you don't need to poke me and prode me and touch my eyes all coldly because you've touched my vagina un-coldy and yeah alright it was a bit cold and yeah, alright, it wasn't completely sexy, I'm sure it could've been hotter. Did he have much experience with women- did he know what we liked? No so I don't just why he's even criticising-
He pulls my eyelid up a little and my arm hits out at him without command. My head is hurting so bad, the last thing I need is this jerk pushing and pulling at me. Now I've lost my train of thought too and I was coming to a good point! He takes another look over me, half laughs and half groans with his apparent diagnosis.
'I think someone's feeling a little high, don't you?' He concludes after a minute and with half a smirk, he lets himself burst into a snort of laughter and then a growl as I drowsily attempt to glare at him.
'I'll have you know I ain't never been high!' Aint never used the word aint in a sentence, either. Until now. Fuck. 'The last time I had a social high was a time I'm not allowed to even tell you about because I've been sworn to secrecy!' I try to argue but there's something in my line of vision that's taken up my interest. 'And I might've been high from that one time Emmett cooked but that doesn't count because I've never been high high. Just like semi-mellow high which I don't count as high because if you're high, high you're like up. Like high up and I wasn't high up, I was low up, like neutrally low up so that doesn't even-!'
As I raise my hands, stretching my fingers in demonstration for heights, I am briefly distracted by my arm and then the colour of the wall behind my arm. Holy fucking Wow. Check out all those colours! They're so cool. I've never seen a blue so blue or a darkness so dark and light and-shit, look at my hands. Look how they move. They're like dancers. I blink a little harder and wave my hand slowly in front of me, watching the rays of light that follow after it along with the several other blurry versions of my chubby artist hands.
This is mental.
'Esme?'
'Look!' I half yell and I repeat the action in front of his face. He seems to be a bit concerned at first and then that smile takes over until that's all he is. Just a smile with perfect teeth and a pink mouth. It's so pink.
Wow. I wonder if it's the same pink as his foreskin.
They say that don't they?
Lip and foreskin being the same shade?
It must be so much harder for Drag Queens to swatch their lip color in that case. The amount of arrests-.
'You were changing your bandage?' He reminds with a tired look.
Let's face it, he is finding me hilarious, you could read it in the way he couldn't stop watching me. He totally adores me. I'm the fucking sun in his macaroni picture. Maybe I should just bow now and get the applause done with because I hear fame is tiresome-. Though to be honest I had no idea why I was such a mass cause of entertainment?
It must be these hands. This is so amazing! Imagine if I could paint this? Maybe I should try to...
'WO-Ah!' Somehow I seem to be on the floor which is weird considering I was stood up just a second ago? But this floor. Wow. Every loop of thread is touching my very fingertips, every slight fuzz of carpet against my skin, coarse and smelling citrus like. Like a forest with orange trees and lemon trees and-. Wow, look at that wall. It's so…wall like. And resolute. And so flat. It's actually 2-D. I wih I was 2-D. Clothes would be so much easier if I could just cut them out of magazines rather than pay for them.
What is going on?!
'Yes, Esme. Very magic. Your bandage?'
'So magic.' I repeat. Everything on my hands feels so….wow. So smooth. Who knew wallpaper could be this awesome? I'm such a credit to this house. All this wallpaper I've put up. This wallpaper I've painted-. Like with my hands- these hands.
'Hon, come on.'
Suddenly the big smile is back in front of view, wider and grumbly as it makes some weird sound, a familiar sound. A jovial sound that I want to touch. Can you touch sound? Why doesn't that sound right? Or is it tat it doesn't feel right? I want to touch the sound. And the colours!
My several hands, all of them sway against the floor, feeling the material again when I find something that isn't soft. It's crunchy. This isn't carpet? It isn't the right beige which I would know because I picked the exact shade of beige to lay the floor with. I did that, that was me. No this beige isn't beige. It's like. It's more colourless. I can't remember what that colour is called. The uncolour colour. The good version. The pure one.
Oh white. It's white. This bit of hard carpet is white. Like a painful white with sharp unsymmetrical edges.
I don't think I laid this flimsy white bit of carpet? Surely I'd remember that?
'Come on now, off the floor.' More of that grumbly sound as I commentate my actions aloud.
What's the crunchy thing? Why is it so small? Oh my God-It expands! Another gasp leaves my mouth as I play with the white stuff in my view. But then I spread it out and it's like the wall. It's like it's meant to be flat but it's been all compressed.
'It spreads out!'
It's so thin, too. Why am I feeling jealous again?
'For the love of-. It's just paper, Esme?'
Look, the crumpled sheet. It's perfect. I thought it was white but there's lines and circles of black on it, in squiggles along the plainness. I push away the face that keeps being brought up in front of me, try to ignore the happy rumbling and look at that hard, flat thing again.
'Jesus. I really can't leave you alone for a minute without you doing something troublesome!'
That jovial sound keeps coming in my ears and after a second, I recreate it before realising its laughter. I'm laughing. Why am I laughing? What's so funny? Is Cullen laughing? That's a funny sound: Cullen. Why do I like saying it so much? It sounds so good.
'Jesus?' I repeat, focusing on the sound again.
'Forget Jesus, go get that bandage sorted. And try not to-'
My wobbly legs seem to prefer the floor however, despite being heaved back up a second ago and once again, my knees are pressing dents beside the giggly face that is by his cheeks, the blue eyes hidden with shut lids of laughter.
'-Fall.' He finishes and somehow, I'm pulled up once again to stand on my untrustworthy feet. I feel so dizzy and all the colours in the room, they're just so-
'Bandage, Esme!'
'I'm doing it!' I complain, wobbling towards what I'm sure is the bathroom but with so many flat surfaces and so many colours-. I'm so confused.
My expression explains all when I finally reach the bathroom. My eyes look glassy and very different. My face is drawn, my balance still wobbly and my brows are furrowed. I try to touch that person in the mirror but our hands block the view.
The room is spinning so fast at this moment, I was standing? Maybe I'm standing now? No, I'm now on the bath edge? Yeah, I can see my legs. I think they're my legs. They're bulgy and ugly and familiar. Why is the room spinning? My leg has that funny square on them, the thing I'm meant to get rid of, I think. Why are my legs so ugly? Why can't they be more like Alice's legs? Or Bella's. Or even, God-Forbid, Blondie's legs... They all had people who like their legs. Their partners don't just like their legs. They like everything including their legs.
My head hurts so bad, I just want to sleep. Ow! Where is that coming from, that pain?! That patch, that weird grey square on my leg. Why is it hurting? I try to pull it away again and groan loudly before slipping from the bath edge into the dry bath with a clatter.
And I let out a grimaced giggle as I try to awkwardly pull my weight back up before giving up again. The walls are moving so fast that my eyes are getting sore. Why does my leg hurt? My head hurts, too. It's pounding. That knocking just won't stop.
'Esme Platt, if you don't open this door in the next three seconds, I'm coming in!'
Why is the room spinning so quickly? I can't see the colours properly maybe they're yellow or green or blue? I don't remember what blue is anymore-.
Oh, it's that colour. It's that colour isn't it? The circles that are looking at me with the black circles in them. That's what blue is. It's so blue, it's so-.
God I think I'm going to be sick.
'Close your eyes.' He says softly.
How weird, I could've been certain it was only me and the mirror girl in here? Cullen is so dependable. So many colours in the room, I think the blue is my favourite, it's so captivating. Why is everything moving? Why does everything hurt?
'Esme!' Again that could be a worrisome giggle. 'Close your eyes.'
It's only because I trust that sound so much that I decide it's best to listen to it. I shut my eyes and everything seems to change. My colours go and the loudness seems to leave but the room is still spinning and I still hurt. Though I can cope with it now. The movements aren't as vigorous, they're gentler meaning I'm safer.
Until suddenly I'm fucking flying. I'm flying and I'm weightless and I'm moving through the air.
'I can't carry you if you keep wriggling!' The voice teases so I shut my eyes tighter and try to control the movements.
The next thing I notice is something really soft again, softer than the carpet, so soft and I seem to be sitting on it
'Sit up, Honey.' I'm annoyed I can't lay down, I'm so tired and this cloud is so welcoming. 'Esme?' The voice sings but I ignore it and push my weight into the covers.
'I know you can hear me, you're giggling.' And something smooth traces my mouth. I giggle once again and when I do, I realise something is on my tongue. Sitting up comes automatically now because I really don't want to lay down and eat, that sounds like a bad choice. But my eyes are still closed.
'Chew. It'll help.'
'What is it?' I reply to the darkness. I think it's a mint or something like that, but it explodes into powder on my taste buds and I can feel that medicinal taste. Maybe it's toothpaste but those little sweet versions. Like anyone would be, I'm half tempted to dribble it onto myself but that sounds bad, too. There's a chuckle again as a hand softly touches my chin as if to diminish the thought. 'Can I open my eyes?'
'If you want but don't move,' he warns. Once again, I can't help but gasp when my eyelashes are out the way. All the colours and there's that blue. So brightly blue and gorgeous. My favourite blue. I reach out to it but a bigger hand settles my smaller one to the softness where I sit. That mouth is curved again so I go to touch that but my hands are repeatedly placed to my thighs with my favourite laughter sound playing in my ears followed by a testing breath.
'So what are we not going to do next time, Miss Platt?'
'Kiss my flatmate?'
I think he winces but it's so hard to tell with the room going so fast.
'You're not going to drink and medicate.' He corrects.
'Right.' But then something sharp hurts my leg and I hit out at whatever it is that causes the burning. 'Fucking OW?!'
'I'm sorry but it needs to be changed.' For someone who's sorry, he doesn't sound it.
'What's wrong with you?! That hurts!' I whine, gesturing to the poor victim that is my chubby limb.
Again there's a soft smile and that happy, silly sound that feels so normal. 'Only for a moment, I swear.'
The sounds are lost on me when I find another distraction. My fingers find those chaotic waves of blonde hair and I softly lace them through my knuckles. The strands are silky, disarrayed and wavier than they look from far away, and they smell so good. Like a plum musky smell that goes in the black and purple shampoo bottle. Which is weird when you think at how bright those locks are. The perfect sandy yellow.
'Ow!'
I can't tell if that was me or not. There was definitely a sharp pain on my side and I thought I felt myself complain but the mouth opposite me is open too and the frown of discomfort is etched on his face.
The bigger hand comes and unlocks my fingertips from where I've woven them into the back of his head.
'How about we both be a little gentler?' He says playfully and he brings my hand from those soft straw coloured locks onto his perfectly symmetrical shoulders.
'Ready?' He asks but I'm too interested in testing the firmness of those gorgeous muscles. Mm. Much more forgivable.
'Ow!' I repeat when the awful material is shredded from the skin at my wrist. Holy hell, how could anything hurt so much?! 'Fuck me, Cullen!' At least I think its Cullen. It's hard to put the colours into shapes right now.
I hope I put the right emphasis there but the shape of his face suggests that maybe I didn't. Unless the phrase is just that funny of course, I am struggling to tell.
'It wasn't that bad, you big faker. You're so high you wouldn't be able to tell if you're in pain or not.'
I take a ragged breath through my teeth and breathe in. 'You could've warned me though! It's so big!'
He brings the ugly clothed square into a focus of all these colours and debates his answer.
'It's fucking sore!' I whine again, squeezing onto his shoulders without necessarily registering the actions. If he's clever, he will see that I'm abusing my power but they're nice shoulders and I don't know what my fucking name is right now.
'You're fine, I promise,' he replies and apparently is as disinterested as before because he's fiddling about with some white box with a red cross on it.
'Why did it have to be so big?' I groan, grinding my back teeth together and breathing through the stinging. He holds up the square and gives me an amused shake of his head.
'It's not that big, Esme.'
'Fuck off-it's huge. Look at it! You've even waxed me while you did it and you're not even qualified!' Man, I'm so close to crying I could hit him.
'You're loving every second of this, you Drama-Queen. Look, it's a perfectly normal size. For everyday use.' Again, he looks to the soiled bandage before wrapping it up in what could be a bag or some paper and throwing it towards one of the seven bins in the corner. My head is continuing to spin but with the added smell of that cream- I feel sick.
'You should've lubricated it with something!' I whimper once again but I can see that smile coming back.
'What with? All these magical colours?'
'Spit would've been fine.' I murmur.
'I wasn't going to spit on it, Esme.' That huge smile comes back but it's more like a smirk, a huge smirk taking over his face again and it's so gorgeous. I want to touch it again, it looks so inviting.
There's something cold on my leg, cold and soothing but also a little painful-. Then the smell-.
'Ow!' I punctuate, glaring without demand at his pristine face. Again that beautiful face starts to laugh again despite its look of exhaustion.
Then its worse because there's pain at my wrist. Cold, brightening, pain.
'Look, it's done! It's all over, nothing to complain about!'
In a familiar type of movement, he moves himself back and examines his work. It's so normal, so sweet, I can't explain it. But I know that at least two of my body parts feel, and look, better.
They possibly smell better, too but the stench of ointment isn't anything I'm commending any time soon. Ew.
Then two warm hands seem to be stroking my shoulders.
'Why on earth are you crying?' He asks with a smile and using a stray hand, he pushes an rogue tear from my cheek with his knuckles. I'm crying? Why am I crying? Is that why my vision is so blurry? I'm so confused.
'I don't know!' I wail and suddenly the warm arm comes up to encase my shaking shoulders. He laughs a little and I can feel it's minty warmth against my wet nose as I sob a little harder into his shirt for reasons that make no sense at all.
My head hurts so badly, man a car could hit me right now and I'd feel better..
'Oh Hon. Please don't cry? I'm sorry, I'll be more gentler in future.'
But that only makes my eyes leak more fluid. His hands didn't hurt me. His hands could never hurt me. I want his hands in more places to not hurt me because they're comforting and cold and a little dry and worn and smooth and they smell like his aftershave and his hair from where he keeps running his hands through it and-.
I sigh again, biting my lip to stop it from wobbling.
'I fucked up.' I sob, muffling the words a little into his chest. I don't know the reasons why but he's happy enough to continue rubbing his hand along my back as he patiently lets me cry until my face swells to a repulsive size.
Maybe he still finds it funny. Explains the jostling of his shoulders. Maybe he just thinks I make a great laugh because he's grinning with such perfect teeth and they didn't feel perfect when I tried to kiss him and that just makes me feel more embarrassed-.
'It's only a bit of mixing substances. I'm sure everyone's done it once. It was just an accident.'
My crying turns to howling and after a few more minutes of him waiting, I finally catch my breath enough to explain myself.
'I didn't mean to kiss you!'
He stiffens a little but forces himself to relax before pushing me away to arm's length.
'Esme.'
Still, I'm crying.
'Esme?'
More crying. I'm going to drown in a minute.
'Esme, look at me.'
That bright blue explodes into my vision again.
'You're so out of it right now, you don't know what you're saying.'
'-I just want us to be friends again!' I whine, still very confused by the various images in front of my memory rolodex I'm trying to sort through.
'You Silly thing,' he murmurs affectionately. 'We are friends. We're never going to stop being friends-'
'But you're pissed off with me.' Again my stupid wet tears keep slipping down my face until the underside of my chin is soaking wet and so is my shirt with it. Ormaybe his shirt. Maybe that's why he also hates me.
'I'm not-.' Even in my intoxicated state I can see him hesitate, his mouth curving into an awkward line. 'Alright, fine, I was a little pissed off but only because you said you felt sorry for me…'
My tears slow and I stop my whimpering.
'What?'
He puts the crunchy ball into my open fist, the one I'd opened on the floor a while ago, and then he spreads it out again till I recognise some of the familiar loops of black. Oh. My handwriting.
'It's just a bit insulting. I don't want nor need your pity. I'm happy and the only reason-.' He catches himself and breathes slowly through his nose.
'What?' I say again.
'There's no point having this conversation with you at the moment. I could tell you I'm in love with you and you'd still be more interested in the 'magical colours''.
Guiltily, I refocus my gaze back to his face rather than the wall behind and smile weakly, still unable to tear my eyes from his hair or his expression or his smiling mouth or his shoulders. Only this time I'm not sure why. He's waving his hand in front of my face and it takes for the noise of his frustrated laughter for me to realise.
'Exactly my point.' He sighs, watching my head wobble around on my shoulders a little before forcing another smile into his face. 'Seriously now, you need sleep.' He helps me to stand, pulls the corner of his duvet back and gently pushes on my shoulders so that I fall to my butt on his perfect mattress with my mouth in a perfect height to kiss his shirted naval.
If not something more worthy of a mouthful.
The problem is that I can't stop giggling, even when he turns the light off and we're left in utter darkness. And then the bed groans and I can feel his weight roll closer to me. And because we're in darkness, the absence of colours gives me an idea. So I kick out my leg and lay it over his.
'Carlisle?'
'Carlisle, huh? How high are you?!'
In terms of an answer, I bring my knee higher up on his thigh till we're almost lined up towards each other but he only sighs dismally again before gently pushing my leg off of his.
'Not high enough apparently.' I complain, snuggling closer. Again he breathes deeply and hides his face in his pillow before whining loudly. 'Care to share the fumes?'
'Goodnight, Esme.' He replies back.
'How about we reap the benefits of our friendship?' I ask softly, shifting closer, lifting my leg up a little because even though he pushed it away, I'm sure he just smiled at it, too.
'Es-me.' He whinges.
'How about-.'
'How many times do I have to remind you that you don't know what you're saying?' He complains, still half laughing but it's starting to sound more cynical. Perhaps he underestimated how long two weeks would be for me. Particularly now I'd been getting into a two, maybe three night rhythm. No matter the source I seemed to find some kind of willing participant more often than not. At four days in of nothing, I'm the equivalent to his 25 years of celibacy.
Worse! It's worse because I do know what I'm missing.
'Why don't we act on the thrill of the moment-?'
He grasps my hand in between the sheets before I have chance to touch him and with the other, he gently pushes my knee from his hip back to where it should be on my side of the bed. I'm pretty sure he can feel my frown even if I wasn't trying to push it in between his shoulder blades. I complain loudly and try to blink back my need to sleep except with this pillow so soft and my head so heavy-.
'Just a lil' oral?' I beg. 'I have often been commended for the talents of my hands-'
I couldn't be laying it on thicker. I just needed him, I needed him to make me fee better. Like really better. I needed him to shut me up by putting his- he interrupts my plans with another groan.
'Jesus Christ.' He sounds angry but then there's a tremendous roar of laughter and I feel him literally shake with utter amusement.
'I don't mind giving?' I attempt to persuade, dragging a fingertip down the middle of his-urgh- spine. It's almost lost in his explosive laughter.
Almost.
'That's it!' He curses in exasperation and with his lips by my nose and his words and cologne biting my very tongue, he commands in a daring voice 'Turn around.'
I literally throw my head forward to his shoulder in a whimper of gratitude and go slide our bodies together so that my skin is radiating on the high of electricity between us. Once more, he senses my movements quicker than I do and before I have time to free my bottom half from the restraint of his underwear, he threads his grip through the fingers on both my hands and then wraps our arms around my stomach-in a, er, hug?
'Er? Cullen?!'
'Goodnight, Esme.'
I want to fight it, I even think I'm about to but his locked arms are so firm and so warm and his chest is so comforting and his scent so familiar- I'm asleep in moments.
The alarm the next morning is the only thing to have disturbed my long and peaceful sleep and though I'm a little out of it and my head is heavier than a truck cartel, I am surprisingly refreshed. Until I wipe the sleep out my eyes. Urrrrm? Okay?
I'm in a shirt. Which isn't necessarily abnormal. What's abnormal is that I'm in a blue button down shirt with only one of the buttons intact at my chest. Just. But it gets worse when I shift myself up to the headboard. Holy fuck, I'm not wearing underwear. Like. Any underwear! Where the fuck is my-. Then I see my bra tossed cross the other side of the room to the wooden door.
My first reaction is to do a once, twice over of my body. Everything feels normal? Sore maybe but certainly not... used? I'm a little light-headed and could probably do with a drink but my wrist feels better, my thigh feels good and my-. What the fuck am I saying? Why am I pretty much naked in Cullen's bed?!
The shrill alarm goes off again and in robotic movement, my long arm comes up to smash it off so that the beeping turns to a deformed whine. Now I'm sitting up I can take in the mess of the room. Clothes everywhere, paper and tissue, sheets and pillows, various other random elements.
Paper. Hmm. Okay?
The paper is in a trail leading towards the door. I suspiciously look around again. I'm alone. Mostly naked and alone which isn't the greatest way to wake up though I'm not sure what else to expect. I was certainly used to it. Excuse the clothes. I have to throw myself out the bed a little, especially when my legs turn to string, but I push through. At least to get to the bigger pieces of paper at the door.
But they're plain. There's nothing written on them. I don't have time to be messing around in the mysteries, I have lessons and not just lessons but a whole new art piece to create. And the nursery, I'm doing an afternoon shift today and...The stupid coffee shop. I push the thought to the back of my mind and pick up the shredded bits of paper when, on opening the door, I'm confronted with a whole trail more.
Okay I take it back. You gotta love a mystery.
The grin on my face lights up. Half-dressed and curious, I button the rest of my shirt up and follow the trail downstairs, careful to pick them up as I go until I'm facing the kitchen. Empty. Apart from a note, a bowl and a cup on the table. Clean for once, bright and cold with the windows open but void of hot-as-hell flatmates. Mmm, breakfast, nice. Coffee, too but that's gone a little cold now so I have to microwave it. The note is close to the cup, folded neatly and perfectly crisp. I drag my finger along letter's indent, teasing myself a little until I can't wait anymore and I have to open it.
I can hear the smile in the words with hints of his jovial chuckle too.
Hope your head isn't giving you cause for discomfort. Perhaps your treasure will help?- He offers beautifully, the Y's tails looping to the next letter-.I look to the treasure. I would've preferred a muffin though I can appreciate him making use of our refrigerator's contents. Ring me when convenient- I really ought to speak with you. I think about cringing and slamming my head on the table but then those little Xx's all in a straight line seem to remedy my discomfort and I can feel myself blush all over again.
I obviously don't phone immediately. That would be too keen, right? I change into my nursery uniform, which is really just an easy red polo-top and jeans, pack my other uniform and try and squeeze all my books into a bag before picking up the phone.
It's on the last ring that I hear his voice.
'Hello?' He's breathless, as usual, and sounds a little croaky.
'You asked me to phone?' I say obviously, chewing around my breakfast, hands fiddling with the dirtied spoon on the table.
'Esme?'
Esme, still. I involuntarily sigh.
'Obviously. Who'd your caller ID tell you it was going to be?'
There's no answer for several minutes, just various muffled sounds, beeping and yelling. He's whispering when he picks up again.
'Sorry, I-' He's interrupted by something again and I have to wait. '-Hello? Still there?'
'You asked me to phone?' I remind him.
There was something about speaking with him this morning that seemed to just put me at the ultimate state of comfort despite my bitchy sounding tone. Even through his croaky whine, the nervous floating of his voice and my utter confusion, I love hearing his voice. It's like a reminder that we were once again abnormally normal. Which was weird come to think of it. We were worse than that. We were normally abnormal for us considering we spent last night avoiding each other?
What was it about my apparent nakedness which seemed to let us off the hook once again?
'Yes-yes I did. I need to talk to you about-' Silence. Then a flurry of loud noises. 'Urm last Night?'
Shit. I knew I spoke to soon
'What about last night?' The strain of tentativeness in my voice is as clear as crystal. But likewise, the stark image of him fiddling with the back of his hair comes into mind and I'm a little comforted.
'Well... at the very least...your attire?'
Ah. Fabulous. I must have flashed the guy again. Brilliant.
'Oh. Well, I just assumed it was hot?' Why else would I be naked in his bed? For a casual fuck? Ahahahahaha. I'm fucking crying. Again there's no answer for several minutes as various other sounds take over his attention.
'Sorry, sorry. I am here.'
'I know.'
It was a surprise I'd managed to sound so patient. Though I guess I felt that way, completely at ease and warm all over. Abnormally normal.
'Anyway-what were we saying?...Oh!' He keeps starting to say words then stopping himself until finally he seems to have given up. His sigh is a heavy and drawn out breeze of noise. 'I'm so sorry, is there any way I can meet you for lunch?'
Uh-oh.
'No,' I say quickly.
'No?' He repeats, obviously confused.
'Not since some psycho blonde took my car, no.'
The warm sound of his chuckle comes through to the receiver and I'm wondering if he's mistaken himself for the psycho blonde. To be fair, he was more of a radiantly infuriating blonde. If anyone was the psycho out of our dynamic it was most certainly me.
He was too polite to be a psycho.
'Okay what if I come pick you up? You're at the nursery, right?'
Still amazes me that he knows my schedule better than me.
'If you're that keen then sure. Anyway, last night?' What is with him this morning?
'Yes but- I ought to explain in person...'
This isn't good.
'Why?' I ask cautiously. I.e. Fuck. What needs explaining?
'Because?' He murmurs shyly.
'Because why?'
'Can I please just explain it later- it's crazy around here and I'm already in the doghouse with-'
'Chill, Cullen.' It's pathetic how well I play the nonchalant role. I'm sure I hear him take another breather. 'When's your lunch?'
He sighs like he always does when he's stressed and tired. 'One.'
'Okay, I finish the nursery at 12:50, I'll meet you then.' I wasn't going to mention about the coffee shop just yet. Besides I had lessons first and then the Coffee House and then I really needed to start and finish my submission. 'Do you need me to bring anything?'
His snapping exterior shatters and once again he yawns. '10,000ml Tylenol?'
'You're the one working with the drugs.' I remind him and there's a harsh guffaw as a reply. 'Anything else?' I ask, my smile already taking place.
'My bed?'
'Aww, poor Honey. Did someone not sleep well?' I tease, pouting a little for no real effect. It wasn't like he could see me. Fucking dumb-ass.
'Hilarious, Miss Platt, no I did not. I'll explain-' There's talking on the other side of the phone and I can hear him apologising to what sounds like an authority figure. 'I've really got to go.'
'Yeah, yeah. See you at Lunch.'
'Don't be late!'
I've hung up already, half panicking over what fucked up trouble I've cursed myself into now.