Hands
A/N for 2018-09-18: A couple of you have suggested that Rose would be a good person to help Bella. Not in this story. Rose was utterly offended when it was suggested a few chapters back.
Many of you are faithful commenters: thank you for leaving your thoughts. If you haven't so far, I would love to hear from you - even if it is just a smiley face.
~ Erin
AT FlamingMapleWrites on FB
They'd taken his car to the hospital. When she'd pointed out, in the school lot, that her truck was closer, he'd snorted, and said, "yes, but the difference in time to mine will be made up for by its ability to actually reach the speed limit."
Now they were sitting in his car again, and having held hands to walk to it, he was counting every heartbeat, listening to her uncertain breathing. She could be excited, or nervous.
Or too terrified to move.
He followed the point of her gaze. She was staring out at the parking lot. Did humans focus on things, or just let their eyes regard without it? Was that what she was doing? Not focusing, but thinking?
Her hand twitched in her lap.
Fear? Or an aborted attempt to reach for his hand again?
She'd definitely wanted to take hold his hand, in spite of its unrelenting coldness. Hers had been so soft. Warm. He'd loved the way her fingers had made a hot coil around his, the thrum of her pulse fluttering there. He'd struggled to be content with only that, not to press it to his mouth, to kiss her skin. To know what it tasted like—
He stopped his thoughts at that dangerous junction, letting air leave his mouth, swallowing the venom that pooled hopefully.
"Thank you," he made himself say. "For seeing a doctor."
Her eyebrows did a quick push up. "Handy to be related to one, I imagine. Or, not...technically related—what—how do you—?" Her hands hovered in their air, and then returned to her lap, the many questions in them evident.
"I promised you answers, but perhaps we can go somewhere else to talk?" His eyes took in the parking lot, not busy, but busy enough to not be private.
"Sure, where?"
"There's a park not far from here." He lifted his chin in its direction.
She nodded, hands now nestled in her lap again. He wondered what would happen if he reached over and took one of them.
He didn't.
Like all drives in Forks, this one was short—just a few minutes away. He drove slowly, wanting to think, wanting to savour her closeness. Her smell was already embedded in the thread of his car's upholstery, but only as a suggestion. He wanted her heady freesia and lilac to be what overrode all the other scents. The longer she stayed here, the more likely that would be. A small piece of her he could always have.
Ridiculous, he thought. But he kept his speed to circumspect levels. Prolonging their neat proximity.
He didn't move too quickly when he got out, but fast enough to reach her door before she could open it herself. It bothered him that these small courtesies had been so grossly abandoned by the occupants of modern culture. Such little things let love blossom into all moments, when now, the populace searched for larger, grander—and ultimately, empty—gestures. Love was a fire: built first with sparks and spare fuel, layered with chosen kindnesses, fed by deep commitments.
He followed her lead, sitting beside her on the bench she selected. No one else was at the park, and the distant playground fixtures were still, waiting for occupants. They had maybe an hour before there would be human company. Then he would need to return her to school, and her truck. They would be alone there too, by that time.
Counting the minutes spoiled the hoarding of them, though, and he released his grip on the expenditure of their time.
"What do you want to know?"
She tilted her head to look at him. "How old are you?"
Interesting. "My license says I'm twenty."
She rolled her eyes. "How old are you, really?"
He smirked. "I'm seventeen, Bella. Your age."
Her breath went in and out quickly. Was that exasperation?
"How long have you been seventeen?"
Yes, exasperation, he thought.
"A long time."
Now she set her jaw in a hard line. The friction of her molars was audible.
"I'm sorry," he said, feeling a guilty squirm, "this is...not something I'm used to. Being forthcoming. I'm not trying to be difficult."
The tension in her cheeks lessened, and she nodded. "OK." She seemed to be readying her next question.
He stuck his own observation into the air first. "You haven't asked me about my diet, Bella."
"No." She shook her head, almost dismissively.
His eyebrows brushed his hairline. "Not important to you?"
"I'm going to guess the movies got that part right."
"Possibly. Depends which one." His face was devoid of any relief, all sharp and pointed with seriousness.
"Blood? Human blood?"
"Yes. It's out natural food source."
"But—?"
His estimation of her intelligence only grew, each time they met. "Not mine, no. Not now."
"But it was?"
"For a time, yes."
"And now?" Her body had shifted so as to be entirely facing him. She'd brought her feet up onto the bench, wrapping her arms around her knees. It looked trusting to him. Most humans kept their bodies half turned away, ready to flee. Not her. Her pose suggested aptness for listening. The stance children took when enraptured with a story. He knew how to entrance, certainly, but this was...different.
"Animal blood."
"Really?" She leaned forward.
Yes, trusting.
His own dead heart fluttered, or felt like it did.
"My family and I," here he smirked, "we call ourselves vegetarians."
She smiled, almost laughing. "Cute."
His face fell again. She had no concept. None. He was more lethal to her than anything she'd ever encountered, and she thought this was...cute?
"Come," he said, standing. He tilted his head towards the trees. They were never far in Forks. The town was a blip in the forest.
It only took a few minutes to be far enough into this greeness that they were clear of all human presence. "You need to understand, Bella. I am not...cute. I am not pretty. I am not harmless in anyway. I, and my kind, are the most dangerous creatures you will ever encounter."
"OK," she said, watching. Her tone told him she only understood this at the most superficial level.
His face flexed in frustration. He didn't want to frighten her, but he needed to. She had to comprehend—without misapprehension—what he was.
She could never trust him—not completely. God, it killed him to think this, even silently. He wanted her to, but she couldn't. He had no right to her, and she needed to see why.
Pulling the ten foot fir up from its roots was nothing.
She blinked, but that was all. Her heart rate remained steady.
"It is nothing for us to kill bears, Bella. Cougars, anything. It's like swatting at a baby." He snapped off a branch the circumference of his arm. Then he picked up a stone and crushed it to dust. "Nothing." He watched her, waiting for her to run, to pale, to faint, to cry.
Nothing.
"OK," she said, like she was waiting for something. "I get it, you're really strong."
"No," he said, coming close to her. Now she backed up, her motion stopped by a tree. Now she was afraid. He could hear it. Smell it. "You don't."
"I don't want...that," she breathed out, a shaking hand up, head turned away, wincing.
The realization that she wasn't afraid of him, or his nature, and what she did fear, horrified him.
"I'm sorry," he said, all that horror and self-disgust breathing out with the words. He stepped back immediately. "I would never—no, I would never do that Bella."
Her breathing was shaky. "OK." She didn't sound like she believed him.
"Never."
The grim imagining of the bodily damage he would wreak with such acts made him still with terror. No. Never.
Her shrunken posture straightened. She swallowed before speaking. "I'm not afraid of you—of what you are, Edward. I'm...right now I'm just afraid of everyone."
Of men. She was afraid of men. Him included.
"No one will harm you, Bella. I will see to that."
"I don't think that's quite possible, but thank you. It's a...nice thought."
"You doubt me?" There was a surprising swelling of injured pride, of a desire to prove himself. He felt positively juvenile at it, the feeling this girl evoked.
She mumbled, and shrugged, almost apologetically. "You've said yourself that you're not welcome where I live."
Here he huffed out a frustrated breath. Yes. "The Blacks are honorable people, Bella. They care deeply for you. They will protect you."
He couldn't quite make sense of the pained expression that had fleeting existence on her face. All his fears woke and then spoke for him. "Why? Has something happened—?" He thought of Jacob's jealous thoughts. Had the boy done something?
"No, of course not," she said, shaking her head, but there was a fresh and almost invisible tremor in her fingers.
"That's not true. Something happened. What?" He was close again, his proximity demanding an answer.
She shook her head, shrugging. "It was nothing. Jake came into my room last night—"
"WHAT?" The trees around him quivered in fear.
So did she.
"I'm sorry," he said, reaching out a hand to rest lightly, and briefly, on her arm. It made him ache to let go. "I feel very…" he searched for a word that wouldn't frighten or intimidate her more, "protective...of you, considering where I found you. I trusted the Blacks with your care—and they've made mistakes. If something has happened, and you need—"
"No," she said quickly. "Sorry. That was a poor way to start. I know they won't hurt me—in my head, anyway. It's just my brain isn't...in charge of my thinking all the time." She breathed in, and then out slowly. "I had a nightmare, and was screaming. Jake came in to check on me. Apparently," and here she blushed, "he sleeps in the nude. So um, he was just finishing putting his shorts on. I thought—" she shook her head. "I wasn't thinking clearly. I ran." She shrugged, as if this was nothing. "Outside. Into the woods."
Jacob had not been sleeping. Edward was willing to bet on that, but he was staying close to her, keeping her safe. Assuming this, Edward had a very good idea of what was coming next, and tensed, imagining all the horrific things that could have gone wrong. He'd smelled the others of his kind nearby, and the wolves too, if—
"And then there were giant wolves. Giant wolves. Not really big wolves, but wolves that are taller—"
"Than you and I. Yes," he finished for her.
"You know—?"
"About the wolves? Yes."
"How?"
"We have a treaty with them."
She stared, eyes demanding more.
"When we came here the first time, many years ago, we encountered them. We had no quarrel with their kind and sought peace. They knew we didn't have to offer a treaty, so they were glad to make one." He laid out the treaty details, and her face relaxed in understanding.
"Of course. You could—read their minds."
"Yes," he said. She didn't know of their dual natures.
He held out his hand. She wasn't exactly shaking, but she was obviously tired. She'd barely eaten anything that he'd seen, and by the sounds of it, hadn't had much sleep the night before. What human would, when confronted by such monsters?
Now her day had been filled with them too.
He kept his hand up in invitation, and she put her soft and warm one back in his, matching the pressure of his grip. They walked back this way to the bench.
He didn't release his hold, and neither did she.
Her breathing was an elaborate flutter. So was her heart. He could fill the remainder of his days with only that, and be happy.
"I get the feeling you think I shouldn't, but I...trust you, Edward."
The urge to take more of her into his hands was so strong his empty hand twitched. The small depression over her clavicle danced with her pulse. Her necklace thudded with it too. Yes, excitement. There was mutual feeling, in some way. He could only hope it was the same one he felt.
And yet, he had no right to her. This soft, warm human being who could have a long life full of human love, and meaningful work, and children, friendship—he had no right to her. None. But he'd told her he was a monster, and she was holding his hand.
"You shouldn't," he agreed. "You should walk away and never look back. It would be the smartest thing you could do."
"Kinda hard when we're holding hands." She said, her head turned and stretched towards him awkwardly.
In spite of himself, he grinned, displaying all his happiness at the trusting gesture of her fingers. "I didn't say I wanted to let you go."
- 0 -
She'd had so many questions. Sooo many questions. Like, would the silver that bounced at her neck harm him? Or how old he really was—really. Or what other surprising abilities he had. If he was vulnerable in some way she needed to protect him from.
But he was holding her hand.
And it felt amazing.
It made her entire body tremble and liquify in ways she'd not imagined or wanted. Now she wanted to keep holding his hand and feeling it all day long. She wanted to curl up in his lap and feel safe. She wanted to know what his lips would feel like on hers.
She also wanted to know if the feeling was mutual. And not to. Because, what if it wasn't? God, all she had to do was look at him and be stricken by doubt.
He'd said he didn't want to let go. Was that because he felt the same way, or because he was afraid she was going to run off and blab everything she knew to everyone?
"I won't say anything," she tried to assure him. "I—"
"I trust you, Bella. I wouldn't have told you if I thought you would."
She nodded. Of course, this was about keeping his secret safe.
Her expression slipped, teeth sinking back into her lip.
"What?" he asked, a flicker of worry touching his eyes.
She shook her head.
"Please? Tell me."
"You can let go of my hand, it's OK." Her resignation was obvious.
"I don't want to, Bella."
"I won't say anything, Edward."
"I know you won't. That has nothing to do with why I want to hold your hand. When I saw you, Bella, and wanted you in a way I had no right to, it had nothing to do with what those men were trying to do with you, and everything to do with my nature. I came so close—" He breathed out, remembering, caging the monster that was growling again. "I have never been so...tempted. Ever."
"By me?"
"Yes, by you."
"Why?" It made no sense to her. She was plain and ordinary. Nothing.
"Everyone has their own personality, their own preferences, their own...smell."
She raised her eyebrows, and looked down at her body, almost chuckling.
He grinned too. "Not like that."
"OK," she said, quizzical again.
"Your blood, Bella. It was a miracle that I didn't kill you."
Oh. Her blood. Yes, that made sense. He was a...vampire. But not anything else. He was drawn by what she was, physically. It didn't scare her. That he'd said as much, in so much detail, should have terrified her. But it didn't.
She was absorbing the velvet of his hand under her fingers. So very cold, but soft too. Wishing he wanted more than just her blood. She set aside her disappointment, trying to focus on understanding more of him. It was a small consolation, but a consolation nonetheless.
"Why didn't you?"
"Great force of will. And, you'd been drugged."
"You could tell?" Just how keen his senses were was becoming apparent.
"Oh yes. I consoled my baser nature, telling myself I would wait until your blood was clean, but by then we'd started talking, and you, well...you'd entranced me. When you told me you didn't have anything to read, it just seemed so wrong to me, that you didn't have a book." He turned and looked at her. "And then I wanted you to finish your book."
"Like Scheherazade," she whispered. "You took me back to keep me safe. From you."
Here his easy expression disappeared, "I'm so sorry. I couldn't trust myself that first night—"
"Please don't be. They...didn't touch me, after you came."
She swallowed, remembering what had happened before his arrival. Her fingers twitched in his grip.
"Why didn't you stay, the second night? When I asked you?" he hushed out. His thumb rubbed soft circles over her hand.
It was painful for her, remembering that time, even with him. Even now. She'd been so tempted, and terrified. "I wasn't sure. I thought your offer might be a test of loyalty." She didn't mention the stories the other girls had told.
"I wondered if that was why." Here his eyebrows pushed together in worry.
"Were you tempted, after that first night?"
"Less so."
"And now?"
"Yes, still, but i'm very, very careful. I hunt before I see you. I ask my sister what she sees."
"What do you mean?"
"My sister, Alice. She wants to meet you, by the way."
"OK." She was trying to put this all together. "What do you mean, 'what she sees'?"
He smiled again, softly. "Some of my kind are...gifted, I suppose you'd say. Not that those of us with them would say they're so. She has visions, of the future. They're not always accurate, but—"
"Your sister sees the future." She stared, her face tight with strained belief.
"In a manner of speaking, yes. She sees the outcome of choices—and those are always changing, so—"
"You check with her."
"Yes."
She blinked, several times, thinking of all he'd told her. Most of her questions remained unanswered, and each new thing revealed only more. So when he spoke again, she had to pull herself back to look at his face.
This did not help her focus.
"Does silver hurt you?" she blurted out, thinking of her necklace. Wondering if she should throw it out.
"No."
"Stakes?"
"No." He grinned.
"Anything?"
"Our own kind," he murmured. "With great and deliberate force. We are, for all human purposes, utterly invincible. You've seen our natural enemy though. Last night."
The wolves.
"You sent me there, to be away from you?"
"Oh yes," he said, smiling apologetically. "It was the best protection available."
And yet, Bella thought of Billy's face as the police had literally dragged her away.
She dropped the beginning of that particular chain of memory, its horrendous anchor something she didn't want to remember, even in the light of day. Even with her hands—
She pulled her hand away from his, digging her fingers into her thighs.
He said nothing, watching. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a crease at his forehead.
"Sorry."
"For what?" he asked.
"I Just—" she started, but couldn't finish. There was simply too much in her head, and then her body, slithering with things best forgotten. "I need to go home," she blurted out. "And I should go to school, see what I missed—"
"You should rest," Edward said. "You've fainted—twice, in twenty four hours. You should probably not be driving—"
"Yes, well, I need to go home." She was standing, trying to look steady and purposeful.
"OK," he said, slowly, that worried pinch at the bridge of his nose. "Let's get you back to school then."
She kept a distance now, hoping he didn't see just how rattled she was.
His own movements were smooth and soft, a curved hand waving her ahead of him to the car, where he held the door for her.
She sat in it, both grieved and glad that the ride back to her own car would be short, that she wouldn't have the confusion of his presence much longer.
DISCLAIMER: S. Meyer owns Twilight. No copyright infringement intended.