Many, many thanks to BeLynda Smith for being so kind in fixing my blunders and for talking me down from ledges. 3
Thank you, readers, for hanging in here with me. Thank you for your patience and kindness and criticisms and follows and likes and favorites and reviews. It was encouraging during my hiatus to see that there was someone out there who still cared to read my writing. It was nice to have a bright spot in some of the dark days. I hope you enjoy this one.
I own nothing of Twilight. Thank you, Stephenie Meyer, for allowing your crazy fans to make up our own stories and continue our love of the characters. (Not that she reads these things, but still.)
Expansive, well-manicured lawns gave way to dreary, gray concrete as we drove from the suburbs and into the city. No one was waiting for us as we walked downstairs to leave, as I walked away from the photograph that should have been mine and into the carーand a lifeーwith a man who wasn't. Our drive back to the city was spent in relative silence; the only sound was of the night air whipping through the open windows of the cab, which was a welcomed relief after the sweltering heat of the day.
I laid my head against the seat of the car, taking advantage of the semi-darkness to watch Edward as he drove: his copper hair that blew in the wind, his long fingers wrapped around the steering wheel. He looked as tired as I felt; every so often his chest would rise and fall in a heavy sigh, and I wished I could know his thoughts. An odd, misplaced sense of pride curled up inside my chest as I watched his wedding band glint in the light of the street lamps, as they lit up tiny patches of the metal as we drove beneath. Did his ring weigh as heavily on his hand as mine did? I'd spent the entire afternoon fiddling with my ring finger, twirling the foreign-feeling band around it.
The foolish, childish part of me wanted to imagine that we were a normal couple: that he wanted me, and we were starting our lives together. It was a dangerous thing, to want. I'd learned the hard way that once a thing you wanted most in the world is gone, it's almost too hard to pick up the pieces and move forward. Once that thing is no more, it's nearly impossible to let it go. Lingering regret from not having Charlie, or my mother, or even their photograph, left me feeling bereft and empty. I couldn't fathom loving and losing one more person.
And I didn't love him. I wouldn't allow myself to be that foolish. But the memory of the look he'd given me in the garage, the tone of his voice as he said his vows, wouldn't leave me be. I knew I shouldn't dwell on it; it was only momentary. One day I would wake up and be alone again. He'd find love with someone who was better, stronger, and I would maybe be lucky enough to move back to Forks. Maybe. If I survived.
Aro is my grandfather.
I'm Aro's granddaughter.
I practiced the words inside my head in every configuration that they could be said, in every setting that I could possibly bring them up, and it all felt wrong. The wind made speaking impossible during the car ride, and I was selfishly glad. He glanced over at me when we reached our destination, as he began to parallel park in front of a very familiar building.
He opened my car door before pulling bags out of the back seat, and I stared up at the looming structure that towered over us and seemed to obstruct the sky. Though most of the buildings around us were lit, the windows in our own apartment building were dark.
"No sense in keeping up false pretenses now," I mumbled to myself. I still felt stupid for not knowing that there weren't any other tenants in the building. I would need to be far more observant of my surroundings in the future.
"You okay?" he asked. It was a perfectly normal question, but in our circumstances it felt out of place. Was I okay? The answer was a definite no. No, I was definitely not okay. No matter how our lives played out, I would not end up being okay. I was married to a crime boss who, despite his peculiar, overt kindness in regards to my welfare, was still a very dangerous man; and I had an insane grandfather who wanted me dead. Carlisle had spoken heavily on legacy in crime families. Maybe the legacy that had been passed down to my mother, to me, was the legacy of never being "okay."
I nodded.
"Is it safe?" I asked, directing the question toward him as I looked up at the familiar gray bricks and modern art deco designーwith its dangerous fire escapes that men could climb up easily. The memories and images of fear and violence were overpowering. I could still recall the feeling of hot blood running into my eyes from the gash on my head, and imagined the still-healing wound throbbed in response. A shiver went down my spine.
""It is," he said, as he walked over to me, setting suitcases down at our feet. Esme had sent us home with enough wares to fill up a new apartment, even though we'd both had things of our own,
"We did a good job today," he said, "Aro won't be bothering us again, if ever."
I took a deep breath and tried not to be affected by his words. I knew the wedding was supposed to be a show, just like our dates in the Italian restaurant were for show.
The thought occurred to me that maybe he'd looked at me that way in the garage because he'd just gotten too caught up in the moment. Maybe we both had. He was a much better actor than I was. Either way, I knew better than to believe that Aro would leave me alone. The crude stick figure drawing was imbedded in my brain along with the other images I'd seen in my lifetime: reflections that haunted me in every small moment of peace and solitude, that I knew would never go away.
It felt wrong to tell Edward my secrets in the street, out in the open, so I said nothing. I wanted to ask him why he thought Aro wanted me in the first place, but that also felt wrong. I could still feel his eyes resting on me, and I forced a small smile and lifted my suitcase before he could grab it. We walked into the building together, completely alone.
"This is temporary for now," he said as he held the door open, "We'll move to a new place soon, something bigger, maybe."
He watched my face as he closed the door behind us, so I smiled and attempted to calm my frayed nerves and shaking hands as I looked around his apartment, our apartment.
Coming from Carlisle's opulent suburban mansion, Edward's home seemed more humble, more habitable. The modest living room was covered in a chic, pale blue textured wallpaper that I suspected had been picked out by Esme, since it was the same pale blue that adorned many of the walls in her lavish home. Small elegant touches were sparsely scattered around the room in the etched glass and metal fixtures and area rugs. The side tables and mantle were free of clutter: there were no crystal vases sitting on the darkly stained wooden tops, no decanters or knick knacks that only served the purpose of being seen. The only clutter in the room consisted of a large wooden bookshelf that was crammed full of books. Large, dark, clunky furniture gave the only clue that it was a bachelor's apartment. It was simple, but nice, much like his work office. I noticed an upright piano placed in the corner of the room, closest to an outer brick wall that was lined with windows.
"That was you playing!" I said excitedly, remembering the nights that I'd sit with my window open, letting the breeze and the noises around me drift in.
"I play sometimes." he said, shrugging.
"Can I hear you play?" I asked eagerly. I wanted to know more about him. When had he learned to play? How many songs did he know? The vague memory of the music I remembered floating through my windows at night sounded like nothing I'd recalled hearing before. It hadn't been the vibrant swinging music that was playing everywhere nowadays; I seemed to recall a lot of low, somber notes.
He seemed uncertain. "Another time," he said.
I smiled and looked away from him and the piano. From the living area, there were five doors to other rooms, one of them obviously the swinging kind leading to the kitchen. Nervous tension filled me. His home would also be mine. I was invading his privacy, taking up space in his sanctuary. He was giving up a lot just to keep me safe. I felt his eyes following me, and I thought perhaps he was waiting for me to speak.
"It's really nice." I said.
"I want you to be comfortable. It's your home now," he said, "After a while, when we're certain things have calmed down, we can get you a place of your own."
He was still giving me options, a choice, and that was something I hadn't expected. I thought about living in my own apartment, how desolate it had been despite my autonomy and freedom to do whatever I'd wanted, when i'd wanted. The thought of living alone made me suddenly anxious. How odd that I didn't feel comfortable with the idea of living withーor apartーfrom him.
"I can show you your room," he said.
I sighed in relief to have a space to call my own. I was surprised, and slightly embarrassed when I walked into the doorframe, to find all of my things from my old apartment already in place.
"I hope you don't mindー"
"No, no!" I said, answering him before he'd had a chance to finish. "No. Thank you." I said quietly. A long pause passed as we stood awkwardly in the doorway, trying not to look at each other.
"I'm sure you're tired," he said finally. In other circumstances, it might have sounded like a dismissal, but he seemed more concerned than annoyed. I was tired. I was bone weary. I walked further into the room, if only to break the odd tension between us. The dress that I'd worn at the wedding hung on my forearm making it ache, through a stupid, childish part of me hadn't wanted to take it off and didn't want to set it down.
"I'll leave you to it," he said, mirroring his sentiment from before when he'd left me to pick out the wedding dress.
"Edward," I said, catching him before he left completely to go through the door of what must have been his own bedroom. Our eyes met and held, and I nearly forgot what I was going to say. In the much smaller space, it seemed too intimate to be using his first name. "Thank you ... for everything today."
"You're thanking me?" he asked, his voice soft but clearly incredulous.
I supposed it was stupid, to thank him for things that never should have happened in the first place, for a wedding that I'd never wanted. But he'd made me feel more special than I could recall ever feeling before in my entire life. I couldn't find the right words to say, so instead I just smiled slightly and mumbled, "The dressー"
"Oh," he said softly, "It wasn't a big deal. I was just remembering the fuss that went into Rosalie and Emmett's wedding and thought you might have wanted to have that," he said, hesitating slightly, "the fuss."
"It was kind of you."
He looked at me oddly, his expression perplexed, and I wondered if it was because a normal girl in my situation would probably be angry instead of grateful, or if it was because there weren't very many people in this world who used the word 'kind' to describe him. Either way, it was most likely the only wedding I would ever have, and it seemed important that he know I appreciated his thoughtfulness.
A loud hum startled me, and for the first time I realized how much cooler the room felt.
"You have an air conditioner?" I half asked, half exclaimed as I turned toward the window. A large metal box took up space in the bedroom that was now mine. It was the most beautiful monstrosity I'd ever seen.
He smiled, "You do. Didn't you have one in your apartment?"
"No! It was stifling!" I said. "You were there, didn't you notice?"
I immediately regretted bringing up that terrible night, because his smile instantly disappeared making my own smile fall. I couldn't remember if I'd ever seen him seem genuinely happy about anything. For a fleeting moment, it was beautiful. I wanted to see it again.
"No, I don't remember..." his voice drifted off and he turned toward the door. "I'm going to call it a night." He raked a hand through his thick auburn hair that, after the long day and the windy car ride, was now hopelessly mussed, making him look like a mad person.
"Okay," I said quietly.
"Goodnight," he said, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly and turned into the hallway, closing the door to his room.
"Goodnight." I whispered a few seconds too late. I closed my own door and noticed that there was a deadbolt on the inside of the doorframe. I stared at it for a few seconds but left it unlocked. An adjoining bathroom connected our two bedrooms, and I hesitated a long moment outside of my own door, deciding I'd rather just go to bed instead of taking the chance of walking in on him, or being walked in on. I took a quick bird bath in the wash basin that was in the room, and slipped on a nightgown that had been put in my dresser. I tried to not think about the eyes and hands that had moved all of my unmentionables to my new room.
My wardrobe was completely full now of greens and silver and red and white, and now a full off-white wedding gown that took up all of the available space. I ran a hand through the fabrics, watching them all as they moved in fluid motion and then gently fell back into place.
This is not my life; it belongs to someone else, I thought to myself, both mind and body weary as I closed the door with a click and crawled into bed. Through the walls, I could hear Edward moving around in his own room, and it was comforting to know that I wasn't alone in the apartment, comforting to know that he wasn't going to be the type of man to demand his "rights." Exhaustion overtook me as my heavy eyelids closed.
It could be far worse, I thought as I drifted off to sleep. I'm lucky.
I dreamt of Charlie. We were outside in his front yard, tending to his rose bushes. I was happily rubbing dirt from my hands onto the front of my dress, surrounded by large evergreens and redwoods. I was wearing my wedding dress. The weather was cooler during this time of year, and there was a frost on the ground, but his roses were still blooming. They were all blood red, even the ones that I knew were supposed to be white. A small pool of the same color lay beneath each bush, mixing with the slush of snow that surrounded the ground all around us.
"That's odd," Charlie said, as he looked down at his roses, puzzled.
"What is?" I asked him, smiling brightly. I should have been so much shorter, but it was like I'd grown overnight. "Like a weed," he'd probably say. An emotion so close to joy was bubbling up in my heart, but that felt wrong and made me want to weep.
"I planted white roses here," he said, "I don't know why they're all coming up red."
"I like white roses," I said, smiling.
"I know you do. That's why I planted those," he said pointing over to the two lone bushes beside the house. They rested on either side of the front door and had grown so tall that they covered much of the front of the small house.
"Do you remember, Bella?" His tone suddenly changed, and he seemed upset with me. "Do you?"
"Yes," I said, shakily, afraid of making him angry. He was never angry with me. No, that wasn't true. He did get angry sometimes. He got angry when there were things that I should remember, but didn't. I was disappointed in myself. I was a smart girl. I should remember.
We were inside the house suddenly, and he was handing me another piece of chalk. My hands were covered in white powder, and I'd worn my last piece down to nothing. "Keep going," he said as he wiped the tears of frustration away from my eyes with rough, calloused thumbs.
"I've already done this one, Charlie," I said, my voice cracking.
"Do it again."
I sighed as I lifted the chalk over my head and forced my hand to form loops and circles. They were a jumbled-up mess on the blackboard that was now more grayish-white than black. Charlie had erased the marks and made me rewrite them over and over. I couldn't see what I was writing, but my hand made the motions without my brain telling it what to do, as if my hand was disconnected from the rest of my body, as if I was writing from a hazy memory.
Something warm and wet sloshed against my bare foot. I paused with the chalk in mid-air, fighting the urge to look down, to stay focused on what I was doing. My breath began to quicken as the wetness seeped over the folds of my long dress and over my other foot and I stared wide-eyed at the marks on the chalk board that held no meaning. I knew what I'd see when I looked down, but I did it anyway. Blood, thick and red carpeted the entire floor. Even though I knew it would be there, I screamed.
And screamed.
And screamed.
I woke with a start, my screams cutting through the nightmare and into cold reality. My arm hit something solid as a pair of strong arms wrapped around my shoulders, trying to calm me. The action made me even more frantic.
"Bella, Bella. It's okay." Edward said, letting go of me and backing away quickly as though I was some rabid animal that needed space.
"It's okay. You're safe."
He repeated the words as realization slowly washed over me and I fought for air and the feeling of horror became more of the embarrassed kind as I realized I was sobbing hysterically and I wondered how long I'd been screaming.
"I'm sorry," I croaked, my throat raw and sore. The right side of my bed dipped with his weight. "I'm sorry," I repeated as I turned away from him completely and wiped tears from my face.
"You don't need to apologize." he said, "I was hoping that the nightmares would go away after …" He didn't need to finish the sentence, I knew what he was thinking: after the man who had killed your father was dead. I cringed, knowing that he'd been listening to me all these nights that I'd been living here. How many times had he had to hear me screaming like a lunatic in the night? It was no wonder my old landlady had been glad to be send me packing. I groaned softly into my hands.
He reached out and gently touched my undone hair that covered my shoulder. I didn't move away. "Don't be embarrassed," he said, "We all have our own nightmares. You're not alone in that."
I looked over at him and wondered what kind of demons he had to face in the middle of the night. Our eyes met and I looked away. Images of what I'd been writing on the blackboard were still lurking in the blurry edges of my memory, but were flitting away faster than I could grasp them. It was just a stupid, random dream, but something about the details was unsettling.
"Do you always sleep with this much light on?" he asked softly, distracting me. The overhead bulb in the room was far too bright for whatever ungodly time of night it was, but I was always too afraid to turn it off. I'd often wake up with a pillow on my face; some saner part of my brain recognizing the need to block it out in my sleep. It took me longer than necessary to answer his question.
"Yes," I said quietly, my voice still broken.
"You're afraid of the dark."
It was more of a statement than a question, and I nodded, thankful that he wasn't laughing at the fact that I was basically a four-year-old.
"How do you get any rest like this?"
A curt laugh escaped me and he frowned. It was odd: I tried to recall the last time that someone seemed to show genuine concern for my well-being. Had Charlie been the last person?
"Do you want me to leave?" he asked after a long moment of silence, and the question took me off guard. It wasn't seemly for him to be in my roomーwhich was a ridiculous thought since he was now technically my husbandーbut still true. It wouldn't be a good idea to become attached. In that moment, though, all I could feel was my own heart aching for any kind of human contact or comfort. The desire to not be alone was far stronger than any rational thought, so despite my better judgement, I whispered into the room,
"No."
In some sort of unspoken agreement, he shifted slightly, and lay his head down on his upturned arm. I shoved my only pillow over to his side of the bed, and turned my back to him, lying on the farthest corner of it, giving him some space. More silence followed and my heart fluttered in my chest, as he lay close, his warm breath ruffling my hair.
"Good night, Bella."
Tears were still drying on my face, but a small smile curled on my lips at his soft words and the ludicrous fact that there was a man lying in my bed. I reminded myself that I needed to be careful. I was too old for schoolgirl crushes. The light was still shining brightly overhead as I dozed off. In my dream I thought I heard his soft voice as he hummed some nameless tune, and I fell into the first peaceful slumber I'd had in a very long time.
When I awoke the next morning, the smell of his aftershave was on my pillow and the scent of coffee wafted through from the kitchen and I breathed them in deep.
The clock beside my head read 7:15. Panicked, I jumped out of bed and ran toward the dresser. I was supposed to be at the office before 8:00. A soft knock sounded at the doorframe, and I banged my shin painful as I was threw a pair of stockings on the bed. His sudden deep voice startled me.
"Hello," he said from the open doorway. I threw some random articles of clothing over the stockings before remembering that he'd probably moved all of my things anyway.
"Hi." I said, feeling extremely emotional for some reason. And stupid. Extremely emotional and stupid. Surely he thought I was pathetic. Frantically, I attempted to pull my frizzy, sleep-mussed hair up into a bun, and then realized I was just in my nightgown, so I crossed my arms over my chest instead. I felt too exposed. Too imperfect.
"I heard you moving around." he said, gesturing with a coffee mug, oblivious to the fact that I was far too underdressed to be in the same room with him. Then I remembered I'd slept in the same bed with him in the very same nightgown.
"I can't cook, but I can make coffee. Sort of." he said with a grimace that made the corners of my mouth turn up.
"I'm sorry … for last night." I said, staring down at the floor and our bare feet.
""It was nothing," he said, "It's not every day I get to rescue a dame from a bad dream."
"And get cried all over. Every man's dream wedding night," I mumbled ruefully and instantly regretted it. His eyes grew wide and then he laughed loudly. I wished I could open a hole in the floor and move into it. I wished I could say more stupid things to hear him laugh again.
"That's funny," he said, still grinning.
"Aren't we supposed to be leaving about now?" I asked, desperate to get out of the apartment, and for him to leave so I could change into everyday clothes.
"Nooo," he said, dragging out the word as he frowned into his mug, "Carlisle is giving us some down time before we have to be back."
I knew exactly what that meant: Carlisle was giving me sufficient time to seduce my new husband so I could become pregnant sooner.
Aces.
I bit my bottom lip hard.
His coffee sloshed a little out of his cup and onto the floor, and he moved quickly to clean it.
"You know, this coffee is pretty terrible." he said, I'll go throw it out while you get ready. We'll get some breakfast somewhere."
He retreated behind the swinging door that led into the kitchen, and I gratefully closed my door to change into more acceptable clothing. Forty-five minutes later, we were both dressed and walking out of our building. He glanced at my hair, now neatly braided and pinned in place, but made no comment.
Anyone passing us on the street would assume that we were merely friends, or possibly a couple who had been together for so long, we no longer felt the need to ogle or touch each other at all times the way I'd seen other newlyweds doーthough I kept stealing glances at him while we walked. I wondered if Jasper was still following close behind, or if he'd relinquished the job to my new husband.
Breakfast, it seemed, was a bad idea. While most of the people in the small cafe were reading their newspapers or having conversations, Edward was silent and watchful, his eyes always roaming. He noticed every face that came in the cafe doors, every person who walked by the windows.
"Should I be concerned about something?" I asked as I finished my breakfast and set down my coffee cup harder than I'd intended, the porcelain of the cup clicking loudly against the saucer. His eyes shifted to me as he breathed deeply and exhaled in a slight laugh.
"Sorry," he said, "No. It's a habit I've picked up, I guess. It feels wrong to not be watchful at all times."
"That must be miserable." I said, frowning.
He looked down at his plate. "Sometimes," he said. "Most of the time, though, I notice things that other people miss. It's been a good skill to have," he said as he finally began to eat his breakfast, and I grimaced at the thought of cold eggs.
"What kinds of things?" I asked.
He stood slightly and moved his chair closer to mine and my stomach flipped and he spoke in a scandalously loud whisper that made me smile. "Well, that lady over there in the far corner," he said softly beside me, as I tried to covertly spy in the direction he'd indicated. "She's having an affair," he said quietly. She was dressed like a high roller, her hair and makeup in perfect order, her pin curls perfectly symmetrical, perfectly coiffed. She was still wearing her hat and coat, and both screamed uptown.
"And you know this, because…?"
"When she walked in, she pocketed her wedding rings on the way to the table. Before we leave, a man is going to walk in and join her. Just wait."
I shook my head and smiled. "Okay, what else?"
He continued eating and spoke between bites. "There's a cop behind you about to take down a deal,"
"What?" I whispered loudly, "Here? How can you possibly know that?" I began to turn around and he stopped me by touching my wrist, his wedding band grazing against my skin. My heart pounded in my chest.
"Don't look," he whispered.
We both glanced down at his hand on my wrist as he spoke, now in a more serious tone, "There's a holster in his jacket, and he's been reading the same page of the paper the entire time we've been here."
"So how do you know he's not just one of you guys?"
He smiled at that. "If he were one of mine, he'd be wearing a better suit," he said, continuing to eat, but my food had become a lump in my stomach.
"Should we leave?" I asked. My record wasn't exactly clean anymore, and Edward, well, he was definitely not on the up-and-up and hadn't been for probably a very long time.
"No, he's not in here for me," he said, grinning. "I'm just a young guy having breakfast with his beautiful wife." I could feel the heat rising in my face. "If he was coming for me, I'd know about it."
"How?" The flutters in my stomach seemed to turn to stone as I thought about the possibility of him getting caught. He was a criminal, though, and I used to think that all criminals deserve to go to jail. My reactions were officially all backwards and wrong.
"Are you worried about me getting in trouble with the law?" He continued to drink his tepid coffee. The waitress came to bring him a refill and he ignored the eyes she made at him. "Maybe one day it will all catch up with me. Not today,"
"Are you making all of this up?" I asked as she sauntered away, giving him ample opportunity to admire her body. He didn't seem to notice.
"Nope," he said, "just wait."
I shook my head and drank my coffee. Several minutes of silence passed. Edward caught my eye and winked as someone walked through the front door. A middle-aged man walked up to the woman and sat down. I could see the white mark of a wedding band on his left hand, a tell-tale sign that he was also married.
I looked wide-eyed at Edward and he smirked above his mug. He signalled for the waitress who came then to give us our bill.
"Thank you," he said, ignoring the eyes she was making at him as he handed her a twenty.
"How did you do that?" I asked.
"It's my own special ability."
"I have a special gift of my own, too," I said, smiling slightly, feeling foolish. I wasn't sure why I even brought it up, except that I had the urge to share, to tell him more about myself instead of holding things back.
"Oh yeah?"
"I'm pretty good at reading people. I can tell if someone is not an okay person."
I watched as the corners of his mouth turned up, but he hid his smile well.
"You don't believe me." I said.
"Bella, you did follow me on first sight, completely willingly," he said, trying and failing at hiding the laugher in his voice.
"Yes." I said, unwaveringly, and for once I met his gaze and held it.
"I'm not the good guy, Bella. You know that."
I thought of my bedroom door and the fact that I never had to be concerned if he was going to force his way into it. I thought of how he'd protected me, putting himself in harm's way. It was true, he wasn't a good guy, but he wasn't a villain either.
He shook his head slowly, the sadness etched in the lines around his eyes on on his brow.
"I would have thought your gift was with numbers." he said after a long pause as he gathered his coat from the back of his chair. "We've got to get you out of here before the second act." I looked over to the man Edward had pegged as a cop. He was looking out intently at a large man who stood on the street corner.
As we walked out of the cafe and out onto the street, I took note of his well-made pin-striped suit with a double breast, and the over-confident way he seemed to guard the street as if it was his rightful place, as if he owned it. Edward placed his hat on his head and kept walking, his eyes fixed straight ahead as though he didn't see him at all.
It was a Monday, and I wasn't used to having nothing to occupy my day. Six days of every week, I woke at 6:00, ate breakfast, braided my hair, got dressed, and went to work. Six days of the week, I sat at my typewriterーor at Edward's deskーand worked until 5:00 in the afternoon. And I'd had so many days off already. "Idle hands are the Devil's workshop" was a something my Aunt used to say, and it seemed I was beginning to understand her meaning. If I didn't find something to occupy my time, I was going to lose my mind.
The afternoon was uneventful, excruciatingly so. Edward sat in the living room reading the paper as I tried to find something to do. I attempted to tidy up an already remarkably clean bachelor's pad and washed the one coffee mug and the percolator that Edward had used earlier in the day. I stood in front of a bookshelf staring at his collection, but it felt wrong to touch any of it. I considered going to my room, but realized I didn't want to be alone. Awkward silence continued as I flitted from the couch, to the bookshelf, back to the couch, with no purpose or point.
"Alright, it seems I'm going to have to lay down some ground rules," he said, folding his paper as he stood from his corner of the living room.
"Okay…" I said, my voice wary.
I watched him as he walked over to the kitchen door and swung it open with a large hand. "This is the kitchen," he said. I crossed my arms and raised an eyebrow at him, causing him to laugh. "It's all yours," he said. "This sitting room…" he opened his arms wide, paper still in hand, "is also all yours. Every single room in this house is yours. Everything from the doorway to the very backroom that I sleep in is yours."
I could feel heat coloring my cheeks at the mention of his room.
"All of it is yours. If you want to change something, change it. If you need some more pillows or frous-frous things to make it more comfortable, we'll buy them. Anything on any of those shelves..." he said, gesturing the book shelf that I'd recently left, "...is yours. The shelves are yours. If you want to take them apart to make something else out of it, have at it. You can burn the thing down if you want." I laughed at his absurdity and he said, "Just do whatever you would normally do on a day off in your own apartment, and if you ever want me to leave, just let me know."
Pin pricks went up and down my arms, and I resisted the urge to throw my arms around his neck. "Thank you," I said quietly instead.
"Now for the one rule," he said, his tone serious as he walked over to the one worn-looking piece of furniture in the apartment, throwing his paper on the seat and placing his hands squarely over the seat back. "This is my chair." he said, "You can do anything you want with the rest of the apartment. No one is allowed to touch this chair."
Failing miserably at attempting a straight face, I asked, "Can I look at the chair?"
His smile was beautiful. I was reminded of our easy banter at the office, when we were just friends and not stuck in an impossible situation.
"You can occasionally breathe in its direction," he said, "but looking is limited to forty-five seconds, and only if you bring me a drink while I'm sitting in it."
I laughed loudly, his eyes twinkled, I looked away, a smile still plastered on my face.
What was left of the day was covered in comfortable silence. He spent the evening lounging in his chair, his shirt sleeves rolled up and no tie or shoes. I found my eyes wandering away from the borrowed novel in my lap, paying more attention to his copper hair, his hands, the way his arms flexed as he turned the pages of his book. As I pulled pins out of my hair in preparation for bed, I realized the one thing that I hadn't paid attention to in the room was the chair.
The rest of the week was bathed in quiet solitude as we enjoyed each other's company and the rare moment of quiet that a "honeymoon" afforded us. There were no illegal calls to be made, no crimes to be committed, no smuggling, no letters to hand anyone over to death. For once, we were free to be ourselves. We were free from the family job. No one called. No one visited. We were secluded in a large city full of people, and though I was chained to Edward on paper, he granted me daily freedom, and I revelled in it.
On Tuesday, I became acquainted with his collection of books, choosing a small stack to take with me to the couch, which I lounged on as though I owned it myself.
For breakfast each morning, he would take me to a new place of my choosing, and we would drink our coffee while he described the drama that was unfolding around us. On Wednesday, I jokingly calling him a "busy body" and teased him that he would call up his girlfriend, Ethel, on the party line, to gossip once we got home. Inwardly, I cringed, knowing I'd called his place "home" but he didn't seem to mind.
On Thursday, he learned that I had no idea how to use the gas oven, as I burned our dinner to cinders. Shivers went down my arm as he leaned around me to quietly and comically inspected the charred mess that I'd left in the baking pan, "Well, maybeーno, it's definitely done," he said. "Fortunately for us, we live in the city, and therefore, do not need to know how to cook. Do you want spaghetti?" I nodded and watched his profile as he picked up the phone on the wall and ordered meals for us and blessedly contained his laughter.
And the nightmares continued, but for the first time in my life, I didn't have to face them alone. In the dark hours of the night, when I was shaken awake by warm hands, I pretended that this would be my life, my normal. I made-believe that he would be there for me any time I opened my eyes. In the back of my mind, though, Carlisle's threat loomed, and the truth that I would destroy Edward's trust in me gnawed at my conscience. He deserved the truth, and I said nothing.
On Saturday, after he'd helped me awaken from another horrible dream, he said, "I'm going to try something." He left me and stood on my mattress, making it dip so heavily with his weight, I almost fell over.
"What are you doing?" I asked as he reached up and pulled the string attached to my overhead light bulb, leaving the room in complete darkness.
"Edwardー"
"I know. It's alright, I'm here." he said, sinking back down to the mattress beside me, lying close. I could feel his chest rise and fall with each breath, "That man who haunted you is gone. I'm here, and you're safe."
He was exhausted. He'd spent the last five nights waking up to my screams and then sleeping the rest of the night in a brightly-lit room. Over the course of a single week, he had become the closest friend I'd ever known. He deserved the truth. Still, I said nothing as he lay close beside me and reached for my hand. I marvelled at how perfectly my hand fit into his.
"Is this alright?" he asked quietly into the darkness.
"Yes," I whispered back, focusing on his warmth instead of the dark and the way my heart was thundering against my rib cage.
I tried to tell myself that he would stay no matter what transpired between usーand the truth ate away at the edges of a heart that was becoming more whole each day.
"I'm sorry, Edward," I whispered into the night, but his deep breaths told me that he was already asleep.
And I didn't love him. I wouldn't allow myself to be that foolish.