Day 3: Part 3

The Bathroom

"Jesus fucking Christ."

"Succinctly summarized," Edward said. "Not the response I usually get, but thanks all the same."

"Holy fuck," I reiterated. "I mean, damn."

Edward followed my gaze as I stared, stupefied, at the master bathroom. For starters, it was the color of orangey-sand. Like the way the beach might look in the red off a sunset. Of course, I had never actually been to a beach when the sun was setting, thanks to my father's insistence that I would most probably drown if I ever approached a body of water larger than my bathtub, but it was exactly how I'd imagined it would look. Large brown, orange, and beige tiles in a material I didn't know formed large, tiled squares that ran from the door to the tub, which was, of course, built directly into the wall. But not really in the way that the tub-slash-shitty shower was built into my apartment wall. Rather, it was resting against the corner of the bathroom, turned slightly sideways so that both ends of the tub hit the walls on either side. That left a lot of open space around the tub and the walls, but the sand colored tiles rose from the ground and created a sort of holding place for it.

Around the edges of the tub, where wide areas of tiles left flat spaces, were odd and decidedly un-masculine sets of ornaments. A small vase with a single calla lily, a small pile of light tan hand towels, various small bottles filled with unmarked contents, and –

"Oh my god, seriously?" I asked, grabbing a small box of something off the side of the tub. "You really do have bath beads. How awesomely girly of you."

"I told you I knew what they were."

"We're both going to pretend Alice put them in here." I flipped the box over and read the back. Freesia.

He crossed his arms in a very defensive sort of way. "Alice did put them in here. If you'll notice, they're not used. I just let her do it because it makes her feel useful."

"And on the day the term "flimsy excuse" was invented, we all sat around and watched in awe."

"Brat."

I put the bath beads back on the ledge and peered over the side of the tub. It was disgustingly white and full of silver nozzles. "Hot damn," I said and launched myself, rather ungracefully, into it. "You have a Jacuzzi tub!"

Edward, who had disappeared somewhere, laughed lowly. "The perks of being a doctor. Close your eyes."

I put my hands over my eyes as I heard him bustle about the bathroom, turning on the shower and rummaging through a drawer somewhere. I contemplated peaking through my fingers. Well, there was no real reason to keep his unmentionables unmentioned if he was sporting a pencil dick. And anyway, I rationalized to myself, he did seen me naked in the tub last night. But still, I pulled apart my fingers slowly, not wanting Edward to catch me, even though my logical was pretty flawless. He was bent over slightly, rifling through a drawer under a vanity mirror across from the tub. The now steamy bathroom added a new sheen to his skin and I swallowed, hard.

"Hey!" I said, dropping my hands. "Why am I closing my eyes if you're wearing a towel?"

Not flinching, he said, still bent over the opened drawer, "Well, for one, you were supposed to keep your eyes shut like the adult you are. And two, I don't usually walk around in only a towel in front of people I just met."

"Just met?" I asked, feigning an inflection of hurt in my voice. "You have seen me naked, you know."

He shrugged and I watched the muscles in his back ripple slightly. The shower, to the right of the vanity mirror, was completely made of glass. And not even the rippled glass to guarantee privacy. Just glass. It was still clear enough in the bathroom that I could see through the door. It was lined with the same sandy tiles and was large enough to comfortably accommodate three people. There was a small sort of ledge inside the shower just large enough for a person to sit down on. Very welcomed images of Edward and me, doing unseemly things on that ledge as hot water sprayed down on us made my ovaries all excited again.

He straightened himself, one hand holding the white towel around his waist and shot me a reproachful look. "Close your eyes honestly this time." I did, a bit begrudgingly, and waited for the sound of the shower door to shut before I opened them again.

"What's that door for?" I asked, pointing unnecessarily to a brown door next to the sink.

"The brown one? It's where the toilet is."

I contemplated this for a moment. "Why do you have a separate room for the toilet?"

"The door to the bathroom is glass. Don't want anyone watching me go to the bathroom, you know."

"That does, of course, beg the question," I said, picking up one of the unmarked bottles from the edge of the tub, "why did you put a glass door to the bathroom?"

"The windows were too good to stay hidden."

I looked up above the tub, where four, large windows sat perched on the walls. "So, you don't mind someone watching you shower, but you don't want them seeing you take a shit?"

I heard the clink of the glass door opening and Edward stuck his head out to grin at me. "Logic, right?"

"Logic," I scoffed, but grinned back all the same. He took himself back in the shower and I uncorked the little bottle from the edge of the tub and smelled the contents. It smelled nothing like home, where the subtle scents of fish and gunpowder were more prevalent than anything as warm and Christmas-like as whatever was in this little bottle. I turned it on its side and let a little of the liquid fall onto my hand. It wasn't lotion, and when I rubbed my hands together (even after I spat on them, the sound hidden by the shower), it didn't suds up. In fact, it just felt wet and weird and I rubbed it off on my jeans, feeling incredibly stupid.

"So," Edward said, after I realized the shit just would not come off. I thought vaguely of running it through my hair. "Why did you need a new place to stay tonight?"

I knew this was coming. I had sort of prepared for it. But instead of the well-articulated and gorgeous speaking patterns I usually impressed people with, I let loose a streaming consciousness. It was a bit awkward for Edward, I was sure. He was silent, listening to me drabble on and he once stuck his head out of the shower when I started crying, but disappeared again when I waved him away.

"Alice explained a little about him," I said. "About how he's an asshole but only sort of. Like, after you know him better. You told me the same thing. He was never really all that nice. Just, sort of an asshole."

"Huh," Edward said noncommittally.

"Yeah." I hoisted my legs up on the edge of the tub and crossed them at the ankles. "You said he would be my best friend."

Edward didn't say anything for a moment. "Well," he said. "I knew Jasper as a kid. How he acted then. I don't know much about him as a Dom. I'm just going on what Alice told me about how he usually interacts with people."

"When did he start the Dom thing?" I fingered the edge of a crystal ashtray, dirty with a few butts and ash. This . . . weird, burning need to know about Jasper was starting to make me uncomfortable. How, exactly, could a man so arrogant and condescending attract so many women into his life. Sure, he had a rocking body and a penchant for sexy half-smiles, but any intelligent girl with even a shred of self-respect would recognize the . . . demon inside of him and hightail it just as I had.

Demon? Really?

I shook my head. Tanya seemed like a nice girl, if not a bit more dimwitted than the usual lot that attended Emmett and Rosalie's parties.

But then there was Alice. She was relatively intelligent. And Edward was definitely smart, and he had tried to date her. Unless Edward had a thing for stupid girls.

"Bella?"

I opened my eyes, which I hadn't realized were closed, and felt a deep blush burn my cheeks. "Whoops, sorry," I said. "Kinda got lost in my own head there for a second. Not my fault, really, it's a pretty good place to be.

Edward chuckled.

"About five years ago," he said. "He went off to college and sort of disappeared from the family for a while. When he reemerged, he was mostly the same guy. Only he had a new life to explain to us."

I brought my fingers to my face, curling them around so I could stare at the nails. They were as short and stubby as they could have been for all the chewing I'd done on them. The nail on the pointer finger of my left hand had been chewed to the quick and it throbbed when I ran my thumb over it. I didn't stop. My throat burned with equal intensity as I fought back the urge to shoot a string of irrelevant questions at Edward about his brother.

"So," I said, as calmly as I could muster. To my surprise, my voice didn't waiver. But it raised a few octaves. "When we were in his house after Tanya and Jasper had taken that phone call, and you had to make that distinction by saying that Jasper was your adopted brother. And when I asked if you were a Whitlock, instead of just answering 'no' you said "Jasper's not a Cullen"?"

Edward didn't say anything for a while, and I wondered absently how long it took someone with such short hair to shower. "I've told you about him."

"Well, yeah," I said, "but I mean – "

"Jasper." He said the name bitterly, like it was poison he was trying to spit from his tongue. "Jasper is not a good guy. I told you that. I wasn't lying."

"Yeah," I said again, "but surely there's a difference between being a bad person and being what nightmares and defense classes are made of." I clucked my tongue. "Arrogant asshole."

Edward sighed, so loudly that I could hear it over the pounding of the shower. "Arrogance is only one of his many . . . facets."

I knew we had reached territory that Edward didn't want to speak on. But the tightening in my throat overrode the discomfort in my stomach, and I had to press him harder. "You know, I'd love to get all Sherlock Holmes up in this, but I kind of need it spelled out."

"Just . . . he'll find someway to get to you. To draw you in. To make you stay. To fix you. I don't know why, but it's what he does. He takes people, subs, like it's some goddamned collection he's spent his entire life trying to covet. It doesn't make sense to me, and I'm pretty sure it has nothing to do with the fact that I'm not a Dom. He likes the best. He likes owning. But not in the materialistic type of way." Edward laughed and the sound was small and bitter. "He has money, and plenty of it. You saw that. But it's his need to collect things that don't rightfully belong to him. That don't rightfully belong to anyone. And he seeks them out and takes them, transforms them, and breaks them down, so they're his, and then lets them go, knowing that they won't ever feel complete again."

I didn't have a single thing to say in response.

"He'll take you, Bella. But you can't let him."

"What? Me?" I laughed. "No, no, he's not interested in me."

"Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure?"

I didn't say anything.

"Can I ask you something, as a doctor?" Edward said in a calm voice a moment later and I knew the subject of Jasper was closed just as succinctly and suddenly as a slammed door.

"Sure," I said. I felt heavy, tired, as though what Edward said had taken a physical toll on my body.

"Your panic attacks, how long have they been happening?"

I groaned, good-naturedly, but the moan sounded forced.

"As a doctor."

"Years, a few years. Since my dad died, I suppose. Though I don't think they're because of him. They're because of an ex-Dom I had. I'm sure of it."

"James." He spoke like he tried to turn it into a question, but his voice dipped at the end and I saw the question mark dissolve in my mind.

"Yeah," I said. "It interferes in my life like you wouldn't believe. I've tried medication, therapy, blah, blah blah. I didn't really want any of it. I just . . . kind of do it myself. I calm myself down. But, fuck, it doesn't work at all. I mean, it does, but throwing up once a day isn't exactly control, is it?"

"No, it's not. Can you hold down a job?" He paused for a second and gave a low chuckle. "I suppose not, though it's not really anything to do with your attacks."

"Brat," I said and then, "Thank you, Edward."

"For what?"

"For letting me come over. For letting me bug the shit out of you with my nothingness. For giving me a place to stay for the night. For being there for me, in your own way. It's been a while since someone has been there for me in this way."

He turned the shower off and I covered my eyes, inexplicably. I had originally intended on letting him walk out of the shower completely uncovered. I heard the wet plopping of his feet as he crossed the sandy tiles to come sit on the edge of the tub.

"You can open your eyes."

I did and looked up at him. His hair looked much longer now that it was wet; it hung, sloppy, on his forehead and the sides of his cheeks, almost like it was painted on. He had a towel wrapped around his waist, the two sides opened on his leg so the thick muscle of his thigh showed. His chest was damp and his long, adroit fingers were damp and his paleness looked, inexplicably, almost paler against the white of the towel.

"You're beautiful," I whispered. He didn't say anything, didn't even change his expression. The only acknowledgment that he had heard me was the slow closing of his eyes. I picked his hand off the side of the tub, noting that his knuckles were white, before bringing it to my cheek. The dampness was calming, even though the warm wet of the shower had turned it cold in the few seconds he had sat there.

"Bella," he said. "Bella – "

I shook my head against his hand. "It's good."

We looked at each other for a long moment. I couldn't read the expression behind his eyes, but they looked infinitely sad, as though he was witnessing the most inhumane, depressing act he'd ever seen. Was it because I was so desolate? So useless?

"Bella," he tried again and this time I let him speak. "Bella, you're . . . you're just . . . it's good."

"Good," I echoed, not at all understanding what he was trying to say.

The movements were awkward as he tried to bend over the edge of the tub to kiss me. It was awkward; both of his lips pressed roughly on the flesh between my nose and upper lip. I heard the wet squeaking sound as his damp body rubbed against the edge of the porcelain.

I tried to stand up, but it seemed like the weight of his entire body was only staying erect because his mouth was smashed so ineloquently against mine. I pushed him away bodily until he pulled away, blushing fiercely.

"Take me to the bedroom," I said, looking at him with a small smirk on my face I hadn't put there myself.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

I climbed out of the tub and when I was firmly planted on the ground, I threw myself at him. He reacted eagerly, running his thick fingers through my hair, moaning loudly against my mouth. I felt his towel hit my feet as he disentangled himself from it. He hesitantly pushed himself against me and I felt the hard press of his erection against my stomach. It felt good. So right and perfect and exactly what I needed. He was beautiful and soft and calm and I felt the substance of my body leave me and wrap itself around him entirely.

He dragged me slowly away from the bathroom, opening the glass door and gripping me tightly as both of our bodies left the warm steam of the bathroom and met with the cool air of his bedroom. I stepped on his foot and slipped a little and he smiled against my mouth before reaching down and picking me up off my feet to carry me bridle-style to his bed. He laid me down and slowly removed my shirt, unbuttoning each large, black button, a look of determination on his angular face. He took my shirt off and just stared at me for a moment, his eyes bright and clouded at the same time.

I sat up and undid the clasp of my bra, pulling it off. He rubbed his erection against my jeans in response and unbuttoned them, pulling both them and my underwear off and tossing it onto the ground by the side of the bed.

"Bella," he said, "you're – "

I pushed a finger against his lips. "Don't."

He looked perplexed but stopped. He bent over me and pushed my legs apart with his knee, slowly lowering himself over me under I felt the head of his erection press against me. I raised my legs and wrapped them tightly around the area above his hips and pulled him towards me. He gave easily and entered me slowly, painfully slowly, making soft moans and grunts of agreement as he moved.

"Fuck," he murmured. "Fuck."

"Yeah," I said, swallowing a tight knot in my throat. "Yes."

It felt good, of course. Good and right and all that. I felt my walls stretch slowly to accommodate him and when he was finally in fully, he unbowed his head to look at me. I was already looking at him; at the tight, pleasurable expression on his face. He relaxed his face and smiled at me.

"You feel good, Bella."

I nodded and cocked my head up in a silent invitation to kiss me. He did and began to move, slowly, and with practiced precision. He brought one hand to my breast and pinched the nipple softly but passionately, drawing a deep, guttural moan from my throat. It was a noise I hadn't known I could make.

Then his motions became more forceful, more frantic as he peaked. I moaned in response and felt that familiar, tight coil of pressure in my lower abdomen. When he came, I didn't. Though he thought I did.

I didn't have a single witty thing to say in response.