Devotion 2
Edward hoped, despaired and hoped again, all in the short walk to the door. If it was Bella…what would he say?
He pulled the door before his caller repeated the knock. Bella fell in a little as she'd been leaning on the door, still holding the box.
She nearly dropped the box, and he grabbed it, grabbed her breast some too. She yelped over that, but she laughed, and he said, "Oh…sorry." Her breast! Her soft, beautiful…
"God, you're…" she said, eying him with a smile. He was used to it. He learned young to hide behind it. Beauty. They called it fleeting, but his had been a long sentence that had yet to diminish. Few people wanted to move off of it. He had a good face, took a good picture, good bones from his father, good features from his mother. How many times. They projected their lust onto him—men and women. He learned to match the beauty with self-deprecation and they loved him all the more. But inside, he knew he was desired. And he knew it wasn't about him, the real him at all. It was more of their brokeness, their endless, crushing human need. His mentor told him his looks had survived the fall. Edward hated to look in the mirror. The beauty was the only thing that had crawled forward and he couldn't see it at all.
He ended up holding the box as she quickly rubbed her upper arm over her breast and kept looking him over. "Nothing like some of the drunks at Vibe. Especially on Friday night. Payday." She laughed and stuck out her hand. "Bella," she said. "I waitress…well, I'm a bar tender. Not full-fledged yet, but I make a mean cocktail. It's like a science! I'm taking a course. It's like…intense. Now I invent stuff. We've got the La Bella! That's mine. It's really just like an Adios Motherfucker, but I cool it on the 7-Up. I mean, what's a recipe, right? It's variation on variation. You fuck it up just the right way you've got something new."
He woke up a bit then. He'd been listening so intently he forgot to speak. Not that there had been a space for sneaking in a word. And he liked her words better. Even as too much talking annoyed him. But he welcomed it now. Each sound pushed against the space.
Up close, she was stunning. Even the gab did nothing to steal from her appeal. He had seen many beautiful women in his life as they gravitated toward him. But not like this. He wanted to touch her again, the way he knew they had all, all wanted to touch him. Is this what it was like to exploit another human being?
His willingness to not save her but to know her…it was making her unbearably attractive. She flipped her hair around a little. She had a unique smell. No perfume. No soapy something. She was clean and dirty. The dirt was the soul thing, the bold thing. Her history was thick with smoke and…pain?
"Dude. Are you hearing me?"
"I'm sorry?" he said again.
"What's your name?" He realized she repeated. He had to snap out of it. He feared she would leave and not come back. He wanted the distraction—her company. That's all it was. Part of his new psychosis.
"I'm Edward. Um…unemployeed. Currently," he said.
"Oh yeah? That sucks," she said. "Alice was right about you," she said walking past him. "You're a hottie. But mature?"
He laughed a little, hoping it would make him less weird. "Thanks?"
"She stopped in front of the window. It threw her into silhouette for a moment. The line of her was hypnotic. Slight as she was, she filled the room. He fought a surge of emotion. Gratitude. When she left, the walls would disintegrate, and the building would swallow him. She must never leave. The word forsake was in his mind. She mustn't forsake him.
He nearly laughed, like a madman, listening to his thoughts. What if she read his mind? She'd run out of here.
"I dated the guy who lived here before. I know every inch of this place. Yeah, every inch of him, too. Regretfully. Left in the dead of night. Behind on his rent. Owed me forty bucks. The freak." Now the light filtered through her dress and he studied her hips, legs. And he caught himself, looked up, her eyes. She watched him.
"Dude," she said. Laughed again. Why wasn't she running out of here?
Wow. He shook his head a little to keep up. "That's a…" He didn't want to say because he had to think about it. She'd slept with the guy, here? She'd been sexually active here. These walls. He didn't like it. He liked it. It was sick. And wrong. And he couldn't live in it. He couldn't leave it. Why did she give herself away? Why would he take her and her money and run? She didn't care for herself. So no one else did. Human ignorance. He didn't care. He didn't care.
"Tell me about it. Yeah, your toilet don't flush half the time. And there's no heat in the bedroom. Unless you make your own. Edward," she laughed, approaching him and reminding him he still held the box. She pulled it from his dead hands.
"So Alice is having a fit. I should ask you to supper, she says. Taco Tuesday. We're on the third floor. 3B. You like spicy?" She settled the box under her breasts. Her soft breasts. He'd felt the left one. It was plump as the melon it kind of rested against.
"I…ah…you don't have to... What time?" he dragged his eyes to hers. He felt very little self-control and no cool whatsoever. Right now? He thought he might cry. He did that now. Tears from two decades breaking loose, spilling out inappropriately.
"Five. I have to work after. We're the welcome wagon," she laughed, bringing up a knee to balance the box and rummage quickly. She produced a cheap bottle of red wine. "I've got this! It's shit, like drinking the good old days!"
Wine. The feel of the thinly rimmed cup against his lips, tongue. The smooth swallow at seven in the morning. The nausea after.
"Yeah. Thanks," he said, and she was gone and he closed the door and leaned his head there, right above the dangling chain that would hold him in. If there was not hope of more, he could die now. This was true diminishment, this now he had sought like the highest goal.
She was the basement of his ambition, and in his despair, she would do. It was an evil thought. But true.
"Bella," he whispered. Then he did cry.