Hi, all. I've had numerous requests and questions about Edward's experience in all this. I thought that after such a big reveal, we could step back a bit through his eyes.
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Isabella Swan fell into my life. Or maybe I fell into hers – considering she knocked me over. Part of me still hates her for it.
It's not like I was trying to get laid that night. Honestly, I was just checking that club out to see what Jasper's new job was like even if I didn't approve. Although I perfectly understand wanting to make a living outside of our successful father's shadow, a part time bartending gig seemed like a stupid idea compared to his respectable editorial position. Still, he bothered me for a week straight and, with my summer freedom dwindling before I was due to start my new job, I took him up on it.
So there I was, sober by choice, not a huge fan of dancing, without a date, and barely able to talk to Jasper anyway because of how busy it was. I was heading for the exit when Isabella Swan ruined my life.
She fell into me – onto me, really – and bashed my face along the way. At first the pain was so bad that I barely noticed her. But she dragged me with her and, despite my surliness and resolve to leave this place with a brave face, she broke me. She made me laugh. We joked. We danced. God, did we dance. There was this look on her face that was elemental somehow. I think I loved her a little even then.
Before I knew it, she was whisking me away to privacy. And I wanted it so badly. Even though I had just hooked up with Tori again the day before, there was this hunger in me like I hadn't been around a woman for months. Maybe it was the pierced nipples. I'd never seen that in person before and it was exotic enough – paired with her bold hands – that I think I would have fucked her in that bathroom, communicable diseases be damned, if her annoying friend hadn't interrupted.
But she gave me promises of next week and I let it go. I knew I'd see her again, even as I kicked myself for not getting her number. Jasper gave me shit for the bruise forming on my face, but I hardly felt it by then. It wasn't an ideal look to start school with, but I hoped it would at least bolster my reputation as someone to not be fucked with.
The few days following our chance encounter, I spent my days in Teacher Institute meetings, playing stupid fucking ice breakers with other teachers, going over the lesson plans I'd already memorized, listening to pointless pep talks. It wasn't as if I lacked excitement for this new job – honestly, the pay was better than I hoped and the location wasn't awful – but I'd already been down this road. I lasted at my first job for two years before they announced department cuts, deciding not to hire me back. It was shitty as a brand new teacher when I had just been starting to find my footing, but the Forks position opened up shortly after and I took it. The whole place – the whole town, as a matter of fact – felt too small for me when I was used to Seattle's hustle and bustle, but nothing compared to my claustrophobia-inducing office. Still, it was a job and I was lucky to have even that. Besides, I had the weekend to look forward to.
When it was time for my first class, I was nervous because every school has a different vibe depending on the students. But I hardly had time to worry about such trivialities.
Because there was Bella.
She was wide-eyed and sinking into her desk, bundled into a hoodie.
Looking back on it, it came to me far too quickly that she had lied about her age. Of course she was too good to be true. It's probably my proudest teaching moment that I continued on with the class without having a mental breakdown despite the absolute shitstorm of horrendous possibilities that could befall me. Her friend – Alice, my roster said – knew already. Between two teenage girls that probably wouldn't be able to keep their mouths shut, what were the chances of me escaping this fiasco with my job? I pictured hellfire and jail time and sexual predator registries. I was going to end up on some Dateline episode.
But she apologized the second class was over, clearly distraught, telling me she would keep it a secret. And despite her thoughtlessly parading as a twenty-one-year-old, I trusted her. Something about her was genuine enough that I actually thanked her and felt a degree of my anxiety ease. Stupidly.
The moment she left, I pulled her student file. Straight A's, honors student, no detentions, no father's name listed – I wondered if he wasn't in the picture – though her mother's name glared at me. Renee Swan. The woman that would probably end my life. And then I saw the true cherry on top. Dear Isabella was the student tutor.
I thought about handing in my resignation right then and cutting my losses. Sure, I would have to live off of my trust fund for a year, but better than being labeled a sexual predator. Better than being reminded of the blade hanging over my neck for forty-five minutes every single day.
When Mr. Marko in the guidance department emailed me that Bella was wanting to drop my course for fear of academic hardship – yeah, right – my first thought was thank fucking god. I didn't want to see her anyway. Surely the more distance the better. But when I went home that night – to the same bed where I unknowingly masturbated for three straight days to the thought of my goddamn student – the guilt hit me. I thought about what kind of teacher I wanted to be. If I really wanted to prove to myself that I was better than some scum that fantasizes about his underage pupils, then maybe I could redeem myself by sacrificing my own sense of security for her education.
Looking back, it was a stupid line of thought, but I was out of my goddamn mind by that point. I didn't want to fail this girl or myself.
So I confronted her and she fucking lost it. Like, hysterically laughing, ready to be carted off to the insane asylum kind of lost it. By the time she calmed down in my office, I was feeling like an epic asshole. It wasn't like she did this on purpose, I reminded myself. She was obviously feeling guilty and terrible about the whole situation, too.
And then I saw the hickey on her neck. Bam. Dick hard enough to cut diamonds. I still feel like a sick fuck about it. It's hard to explain – like seeing her being emotionally mature at the same time that I noticed a physical reminder of what we did . . . it just blurred her age in my head. She didn't fit in the "student" box. I'm not saying that makes my attraction to her morally acceptable, but it happened.
In my defense, I tried to treat her like anybody else after that. I tried to just focus on our tutoring relationship, but she went along with it so easily that I relaxed too much. We started joking around – the way I would try to establish repartee with any other student – and I let the tan line comment slip out. I didn't even mean to bring it up – it's not like we needed any reminders – but there it was, evidence of my gutter mind.
When I found her bawling her eyes out in the parking lot after school, I immediately assumed it was because of me and my foolishness. She was going to report me, get me fired, and blame all of this trauma on her perverted English teacher. But it was something about an ex-boyfriend, completely unrelated to me because she did have a life. I hated the thought of her with someone else. The sheer intensity of my reaction surprised me, but I felt it anyway, clawing at my chest, snarling for this girl's body, her blood, her very soul. I had to remind myself sharply that I had no right to her, that I would probably go to fucking jail or at the very least lose the right to teach ever again. Who was I judge how emotionally mature she was? I'm sure pedophiles rationalize away such things, too.
I was almost sobered up from my flash of jealousy when she told me I was the best she'd ever had. That was the moment I knew I was well and truly fucked. At that point, I did not think of it as me being a fucking pervert to some innocent high school student; she wanted me, too. Not exactly defensible in court, but there it was. It drove me fucking wild.
That night, I looked myself in the mirror for a long time, trying to decide what to do with myself. Acting on my impulses was not an option – that didn't take much thought at all. I debated everything from quitting, turning myself in, asking Mr. Berty to take over tutoring even though it would be a breach of contract, or acting like everything was normal.
I didn't do any of those things. I decided I would continue on teaching and tutoring, but Isabella Swan would be held at arm's length. Maybe intentionally being an asshole would distance us enough to make things easier. It wasn't an inviting prospect, but it seemed a safer option than jail.
The one failure of my plan was that I did not expect to care about her feelings so much. Despite shutting down any attempts to apologize or talk about the craziness of our situation, all I could think about was how miserable she looked stuck in my office – how I caused that. I consoled myself that it would get easier as the school year wore on. We were only in our first few days of classes and as long as I maintained aloof professionalism, I felt more confident about surviving my contractual obligations.
That weekend, Jasper offered to hang out after he finished working on Saturday and I knew the distraction would be better than moping about a fucking teenager. He gave me shit about my mood, but didn't ask much beyond checking in about my first few days of class. He talked a little bit about some girl he was supposed to meet, but I had difficulty listening when my own troubles weighed on me so heavily. Then we watched some football preseason game that I barely paid attention to before it was time for him to start bartending again.
I told him I was going to head back to Clallum Bay. Hell, I even started driving. But I saw Volterra out of the corner of my eye and found myself turning into the parking lot like some kind of magnetic force was pulling me in. It wasn't like I even thought she'd be there. It felt more like I was returning to the scene of the crime to truly rake myself over the coals and reflect on how shitty the past week had been.
Who knows how long I sat there, not daring to go inside, before she knocked at my window. It was like seeing the fucking ghost of Christmas past, there to remind me of my sins. But she wanted to get inside my car.
And I let her. Because I'm a fucking idiot. I had my hand up her skirt in less than thirty seconds, spewing out all kinds of dirty, nasty shit about the hickey on her neck, her piercings, how sweet she tastes – because I'm a fucking idiot. It came pouring out of me from places of madness I unsuccessfully tried to keep locked away. Because, and I repeat, I'm a fucking idiot.
The truth was that, seventeen or not, student or not, I liked her. More than liked her. My dick couldn't tell the difference. When she started blowing me, it certainly had no qualms about her age. All it knew was that her hot mouth and tongue were way too good at this. I barely enjoyed coming because the second I looked in her eyes, I saw the face of a woman I wanted to be with and get to know rather than a young girl that I should stay the fuck away from at all costs. And to make it all worse, she was mature about it, understanding perfectly, as drawn into our orbit as I was.
That was the night I realized I was in love with Isabella Swan. I don't say that lightly. We'd known each other a week at that point. We'd had very little contact. I knew almost nothing about her – not any of the details you're supposed to know, anyway. I didn't know where she wanted to go to college, what her favorite food was, if she liked her showers at morning or night, what her family was like. But I knew she was brave and mature and emotionally aware and . . . well, it felt a lot like love. More like love than the two times I'd been in love prior – like something had reached into my being and twisted it all up. My father always told me that he fell in love with my mother at first sight, so maybe a week was conservative by some standards.
Either way, I was basically fucked. That's the moral of the story. Edward Masen meets girl, nearly bangs girl, finds out girl is his student, nearly bangs girl again anyway, and unwisely falls in love. There was a choice to be made between selfishness and selflessness at that point. Did I pursue her despite the risk to both of our reputations or did I make the ironclad dedication to my willpower to leave her alone? It shouldn't have been hard to make that choice, but it was.
When she sat in front of me again a few days later, I could barely speak to get the words out. Words I didn't want to say and didn't want to believe. She was kind to me anyway. She understood. She gave me her coffee. She listened. I thought all would be well.
The next thing I knew, Mr. Marko from the guidance department was telling me she dropped my class. It was a kick to the stomach. I should have been grateful – it would have made keeping our distance that much easier – but it ripped at me. The truth is that I didn't want her to go. I didn't want her to sacrifice her education just because of me. It played on every insecurity I had about failing as a teacher and being the fucking pervert that made her uncomfortable.
I'm not proud of my reaction. I snapped at her when I saw her again, then told her to forget it when she tried to defend herself. It was petty, but all I saw in that moment was a beautiful girl telling me why I had failed.
I brought her coffee the next day to apologize for being a miserly, old bastard. No, I never said the words, but the gesture was important. And maybe she agreed because the smile that lit up her face was stunning. We reached some kind of understanding then – to be friendly without overstepping further boundaries. I joked with her more freely and shared more of myself than I would have amongst another student, but it was surprisingly easy.
Sick as it was, I started to think of our time together as mini-dates. She showed up, we took turns treating each other to coffee, we made jokes, asked each other questions, and then we parted. It was like the first few dates most couples go on at the very beginning when there is sexual tension, but little expectation of sexual contact; the goal is just getting to know each other to see if it's a good fit. That's what it was like with Isabella, though it only told me what I already knew – we were a good fit.
She could quote whole stanzas of poems. She had incredibly insightful comments to make when editing other students' papers. When she really laughed, her nose wrinkled in a way that made me smile in turn. Though she didn't enjoy talking about politics, she was far more informed than I was at her age. She hated the Star Wars prequels with as much passion as I did.
I found myself brainstorming the least perverted options for asking her out once she graduated and then immediately scolding myself afterwards, thinking that if I really loved her, I would let her live her life like any other normal teenager. Like I said, I was fucked.
It was a few weeks into the school year that Tori reached out to me again with a more carnal offer. We'd stayed in touch in a superficial way, but I wasn't surprised by her crude message asking if I wanted to fuck that evening. My dad introduced us last March at some work event and we hit it off. It was before I moved back from Seattle, so I didn't consider a relationship with her at the time, but we became friends, occasionally getting together to engage in adult recreational activities. She dated around, so it was never a big deal, but once I moved closer and the frequency of our rendezvouses increased, I had considered asking her to be my girlfriend. Tori was hot, kinky, smart, and kind. More of a party girl than I liked, but not unbearably so. When she texted me again, I should have been leaping at the chance to forget being hung up on a seventeen-year-old.
But I couldn't do it. I told her I was busy since it was a school night. My stalling wasn't very effective, though, because she called me the next day asking if I would be her date to the annual office party. She was laying it on thick about not having anyone to go with and how she hadn't seen me for weeks. I caved. I was attending anyway, so might as well go with someone I knew. Even though Jasper and my dad would be there, they were usually too wrapped up in employees to spend much time talking to me. I never enjoyed the office parties anyway even though it made my dad happy – too many drunk strangers in ties.
It was a few days before the office party that my relationship with Tori blew up in my face. She called me during my session with Bella – I don't even know what compelled me to answer right at that moment – and was double-checking that I was still attending the office party with her and what I would be wearing. She then tried to describe to me in a sultry voice what she was wearing – nothing, apparently – and I could hardly get off the phone fast enough, fully aware of Bella's eyes on me.
"Was that your girlfriend?" she asked me. She asked like she was trying to tease me, but she wasn't that great of an actress.
I couldn't even answer her. No, Tori wasn't my girlfriend, but she wasn't my friend either. Especially having just had to avoid phone sex, it was painfully clear that Tori fell into a different category. And how was I supposed to explain that? No, don't worry. She's just some woman I fuck occasionally. Or better yet: Don't worry. I don't fuck her anymore because I'm in love with you. Aren't I romantic? Rather than dig myself a deeper hole, I shut my fucking mouth.
On the day of the office party, I was already in an existential crisis over a seventeen year old, so I was not looking forward to facing family or Tori. I told Tori I would meet her at the party, not wanting to get suckered in to being at her apartment as she suggested. It fucked me up in a way to know how differently I would have responded to Tori a couple months ago. Before Bella, I would have been flirting up a storm, anticipating the end of the night when we would go back to Tori's place and fuck athletically. But no. I had already ruined my life for some girl.
Luckily, I had enough distractions to keep my mind occupied. Tori ran off to talk to somebody in accounting and I found my father holding court amongst his employees, drink in hand – not uncommon these days. Ever since he broke up with his most recent long-term girlfriend, he'd been a bit of a loose cannon when it came to women and alcohol. But maybe I'd be going through a mid-life crisis, too, if I had accidentally knocked up my high school girlfriend at the age of sixteen, married her two years later, had another son right after, lost my twenty year old wife to a car accident, remarried immediately after out of desperation, got that wife pregnant because she purposefully poked holes in the condoms, and divorced in four months, kicking off a couple decades of bitterness and resentment. Yeah, I'd probably drink and fuck my way through middle age, too.
More to my surprise was the presence of Emmett.
"Hey," I greeted him, smiling and shaking his hand. "I didn't know you were coming."
I hadn't spoken to my youngest brother in a few months. We weren't close enough to keep in consistent contact – mostly because his mom was a goddamn nutcase – but I was pleased to see him anyway. He had gotten beefier in the interim.
"My class got cancelled, so I thought I'd drive out for the weekend."
"How's college been?" It was a generic enough question, but I didn't know what the hell was going on in his life anymore.
The good thing about Emmett was that it didn't take much to get him talking. He joked about his classes, complained about some of his football teammates, and enthused about some of the guys in his dorm. He didn't ask me any questions about my job or my life, though I was glad. I didn't want to have to pretend everything was fine.
"Alice and Bella, this is my dad, Carlisle, and my brothers, Edward and Emmett."
I turned my head at the sound of Bella's name coming from Jasper's voice.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, realizing I was speaking in unison with Emmett. Maybe it was the look he gave me. Maybe it was the sight of Jasper holding hands with Alice. Somehow, I didn't have to be told what the hell was happening to know what the hell was happening.
You know those times at birthdays or weddings when you have groups of friends from different parts of your lives intermingling? Like all the different masks you wear get spliced together in odd formations to accommodate change? Like you realize some kind of commonality amongst all those fractions of your life? It was like that.
It was the mix of my family, my work, and my love life – all held in the eyes of one scared, wide-eyed, shaking girl.
Jasper treated it like a Nancy Drew novel, laboriously drawing explanations out of each of us – explanations I didn't need to hear and didn't want to give. My mind was already churning, recalling small moments that added up to this mess.
The time Emmett told me in passing months ago how he took his girlfriend to a local baseball game. His girlfriend, Izzy.
The time I found Bella crying in her car over some ex-boyfriend – the ex-boyfriend that told her he loved her. The ex-boyfriend I was insanely jealous of.
The time Jasper mentioned his new girlfriend, saying she was friends with his new intern. Seeing Alice in front of me, only seventeen or eighteen, I understood why he never said names, never gave ages. How could I have known? He had been hiding things just like I was.
As I was still standing there, attempting to absorb the collision, Bella announced her intent to drink.
"You're not old enough," I pointed out when none of my family members felt it worthy of note.
She gave me an ice-cold glare and fled anyway.
"Jeez, I guess me being here makes her super uncomfortable," Emmett said. I had an instant, dark urge to shove him to the ground for thinking this had anything to do with him. I was still trying too hard to remember every detail she told me about her relationship with him, cross-analyzing them with my own image of Emmett. Mostly, it added up to the aforementioned shoving desire.
"Excuse me," I muttered, following Bella who was already finishing a drink and working a second.
I barely managed to stop her and try to make some sense of the situation when Tori appeared again, the first I had seen her since arriving. Even though she came up from behind me, the alcohol was apparent in her voice and the way she leaned so heavily on me. I held her up against me for fear of her falling, but she was too busying introducing me to Bella.
Of course she knew Tori, too. How could I have overlooked that? It was like a never-ending nightmare. Especially once Tori was trying to flirt with her. I'd seen Tori drunk numerous times – it was kind of her M.O. – but with her unique position as a woman with whom I'd been involved attempting to caress the hair of the other woman – girl, rather – with whom I'd been involved, I found myself strong-arming her out of there.
I gave Bella one last look – she was elemental, non-human, beyond any reckoning I could manage – and left with my cargo.
"I don't want to go yet," Tori whined to me as I pressed the elevator button.
"You're drunk."
"So?"
I shut my eyes. She didn't know about my mom, of course. God knows why she thought I avoided alcohol. "You need to go home. You're acting ridiculous," I snapped.
She tugged at my grip on her arm. "Everybody acts ridiculous. That's the point. Jesus, loosen up, grandpa."
For a moment, she looked so young – younger than Bella even – and stubborn that I wondered what I ever found appealing about her. "Fine. Stay then. I'm leaving."
"What is wrong with you?" she asked me, like she could not fathom my lack of a party spirit.
Isabella Swan. That's what was wrong with me. She fell into my life – into every conceivable part of my life. It was like she had lurid roots, metastasizing into every vital vein. And maybe I didn't hate her for it. Maybe it just spelled out some kind of inevitability I already knew. I wasn't sure.
She fell into my life.
And I fell for her.
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