Chapter Thirty-Three: Expectations & Explanations
I'm in a can't-eat, can't-sleep, don't-feel-like-breathing state of mind.
I run out of school so fast Charlotte Rose can't catch me. I hear Rowdy's voice screaming behind me, but I don't care. I cry violently, my eyelashes sticking together in clumps. My devastation is replicated on my blotched, mottled skin that's tainted with his betrayal.
My boots hit the pavement, my dress flying up behind me. If I could disappear, right here, right now I would. But life isn't like that; it pushes you to keep going and keeps your heart pounding.
I run like the world doesn't need me, like I'm nothing in this infinite amount of space. Trees whizz by and I want to be them. I want to stand there as they do and have the wind whisper through me. I don't want to be this gaping, open wound that oozes my misery with every step I take. Dirt spreads out underneath my feet as I find my grounding on a road I don't recognize.
It's then that my knees buckle.
I don't know where they come from—the choking sob or the vomit that spews from my mouth. Anything I've eaten in the past two days comes rushing from the pit of my belly, taking my heart, love, and dreams with it. My knees land on little pebbles that dig into my skin, leaving small, reddened circles as their penetrating evidence.
"Fuck!" I sob, suffocating on my own air. I cough up dribbles of spit, brown remainders of my puke dripping from my bottom lip. Gagging, I attempt to hurl up anything else, but my stomach is empty. It's the reflection of my soul and I feel sick, sick, sick.
I give up as my tongue runs over my dry, cracked lips. I give up trying to stand, trying to keep moving. My body collapses onto the ground, the dirt coating my dress in layers.
"So I suffer to make you happy?" he asks.
I stutter because that's not what I meant.
Rowdy's hand squeezes mine. "Then it's worth it."
Love shouldn't feel like this. It shouldn't be some painful, agonizing, grieving entity that makes one person hurt for another. It shouldn't feel like someone is ripping me and pulling me apart with their bare hands. It shouldn't make my tongue swell in my mouth, or make me feel as if everything is nothing.
Love isn't some unimaginable, string-tugging, soul-crushing, bittersweet devotion a girl should feel for a boy. I'm so dumb. I'm so stupidly blind and naïve to love him.
Love is hard.
Falling was the easy part.
Love crushes, wrapping around you like a snake, smothering you until you can no longer breathe.
Love is an Angela-fucker.
My heart crumbles into pieces as I wrap my arms around my shivering body. My pain intensifies each second and it is jarringly brutal. I let soft kisses, loud laughter, cursing lips, and mossy green eyes flicker through my mind as I fall asleep.
I don't plan on waking up.
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"Bella!"
"Bella!"
I blink my eyes in the darkness, but a bright light shines somewhere through the patch of trees.
"AnnaBella Rain!"
My face sticks to the earth, but I don't have the strength to attempt to move. The husky voice calls out for me, echoing through the night.
I close my eyes again, and the sound of my thumping heart is the only reminder that time is actually passing me by. I curl myself into a ball, silently pleading for the voice to go away.
"Bella! Shit!" Feet run towards me and a warm body kneels beside me. "Bella, wake up! Are you okay? Are you hurt?"
I'm not okay. I'll never be okay. I hurt in waves that continuously crash over me, drowning me so that I sink into a nonexistent void.
My eyelids flutter and I see blurred images of Jacob Black hovering over me. He reaches his muscular arms underneath me so that I'm cradled against his chest.
"I'm here, Bella. I'll get you help. You've got all of Forks County looking for you!"
"No!" I choke out, my raw voice clawing at my throat. "Don't. I can't. Please. I can't see anyone right now."
It's not until I fully focus on the moon that I realize how late it truly must be. The drabness of the day has escaped me, but it's the hazy black night that reminds me nothing has changed. The star speckled sky can't illuminate the hole I feel in my gut. Jacob holds me closer, his warmth covering my goose bumps in the chilled air.
"But your mother-" he attempts to explain and I cut him off with a moan that escapes me.
"I can't," I whisper. "Please. Just let me lie back down."
Jacob ignores me, running through the trees to another road where his motorcycle sits. I feel his labored breaths as he sprints past the last branch that scrapes against his leg. His gleaming black motorcycle leans on its kickstand, tilting slightly to the left.
I see it and I try to argue with him, but he shushes me.
"I'm taking you to my house."
And even though I hate Jacob with more passion than any one person should hate another, there's someone worse in this world than he is.
He props me on the motorcycle and with weak arms, I hold on to him, gripping his leather jacket.
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The blanket is itchy, but it's warm and comfortable as Jake passes me a mug of hot tea. I sip it slowly, the heat rising over my face. He takes off my boots, tucking my feet back under the thick layer.
"Where's Billy?"
I glance around the small living room that's decorated in shades of browns and greens. It's obvious two males live here and leftover plates with random bits of food are piled on top of the table.
Jake shrugs. "Probably getting shit-faced drunk. I don't know. He's rarely home anymore."
I hum, not answering. The last thing I need right now is Billy walking in. He and Papa have yet to make up and I don't see it happening anytime soon. It's a scene I want to avoid.
Jacob presses a damp washcloth to my face, trying to wipe off the grime. I move slightly to the right, avoiding his touch. "I don't want it. I'm fine."
"You don't look fine, Bella." He pauses when I wince at my name. He knows how much I hate it. "Your face is dirty, your hair is all over the place. What were you gonna do? Lie out there all night?"
I put the cup down, budging an old magazine out of the way. "Maybe."
"I told you not to mess with Masen," he says bitterly. "What did I tell you, Cotton? You never fucking listen. Angela's bragging all over school how she slept with him."
"Stop."
Jacob tosses the washcloth down in anger. "No, you're going to fucking listen to me for once. I told you I'd be good to you! What did you do? You threw that shit in my face, flaunting yourself all over town with him. I had to watch that y'all all summer long and did you care? No! You never gave a shit about me, Bella!"
"You're so fucking cocky, Jake! You never asked what I wanted. You just assumed we'd be together. You messed with Papa's stuff and you cost him money! Why would I want to be with someone like that?"
"You don't get it, do you?" Jacob rises from his seat, pacing back and forth. "We had a good thing! I knew you weren't into me, but I figured you would be over time. I'd make you fall in love with me and then we'd, I don't know, getting married or something one day. But then those Masens came into town. Carlisle and his wife showed up at the gator shop and they wouldn't stop bragging about their three sons. But their oldest? They made it seem like that motherfucker walked on water. I walked out to the boat and there he was, sitting in the seat of their truck. I already knew, Bella. Once you two met, it would be over for me. I had to do something. So I hatched up a plan to ruin Charlie's shit and he'd blame it on the new kids in town. It almost worked."
"Almost," I mutter cynically.
"I did it for you, Bella. The Weber girls, they didn't give a shit anyways. They'd help me and Dad was all for it. He just said to make sure we didn't get caught."
"Billy doesn't care about you loving me, Jake. He just wanted to own Papa's business. Don't you see that?"
"Maybe so," he sighs. "I just … I didn't want things to turn out like this. And look at you now, crying over that lying cheater. I told you not to come running to me when he broke your heart, but here we are."
His words make a fresh set of tears stream down my face. I taste the salt between my lips and feel them running down my flushed cheeks. "Hush, Jake. I didn't come running to you. You found me. It's not the same thing."
"It's not?" Jacob kneels in front on me on the hardwood floor, taking my hands into his. "You didn't have to come with me. What does that tell you?"
I blink, my eyes red, wet, and puffy. A heavy weight in my chest travels to my throat, causing me to swallow. "It tells you I'm in a weak position right now and you're trying to take advantage of it."
"No, Bella, it tells you I'm going to always be here for you. It tells you I'm the best damn thing that ever happened to you. I know what you see." He glances down at his black shirt and jeans scuffed with holes. "You think I'm some hard-ass who fucks around with those Webers. They ain't shit compared to you. I'd treat you right. You're my sun. Burn for me, Bella. Only for me."
"It's like telling the moon to moon. It can't. But you can tell it to glow. And that's what you're doing, glowing all around me."
"I'd rather be the sun."
"Naw," Rowdy answers, strumming his fingers down my belly. "The sun's too hot. But see, the moon has these craters…"
Jake lifts my face gently with his hands. I feel callouses, the roughness that comes from working. I move my chin, but he pulls me back.
He's quick, but I'm even quicker. I push away his body with my hands as he leans forward in an attempt to kiss me.
I hate, hate, hate him. I find the strength to stand up as a door squeaks, shutting closed as it bounces several times.
I gasp, expecting Billy to give me a good lashing for being in his home.
It's not him, not by a long-shot.
With the moon glowing behind him through the screen door, Rowdy stands at the entrance, mouth open and hands balled into fists.
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Rowdy POV
Earlier that day…
"Mr. Masen, are you listening to me?" Mrs. Meyers glares at me from the front of the classroom, spatula in hand.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Then what did I just say?"
Shit. I have no idea. I was too busy daydreaming about my girl again, wondering if I could convince her to make-out with me in the janitor's closet.
Or maybe more.
Now that she's on birth control, I can't wait to love on her every single day. We'd be attached at the hip if fate would allow it, but considering how tough football season is going, I've been too caught up.
"Mr. Masen," Mrs. Meyers points that fucking flipper at me, glaring. "This assignment counts for a large portion of your grade. If you want to pass home ec, I suggest you start listening and quit fooling around."
I tap my pencil on the table, waiting for her to finish. The teachers around here love degrading me, acting like I'm not worth anything, but they're wrong. I know shit, but I just don't show it. I think it's all that damn medicine I was on.
Angela whispers underneath her breath, "Add rosemary and lemon for flavor."
I clear my throat. "I was listening. You said to add lemon and rosemary."
Mrs. Meyers hums, almost angry that I'm right and continues speaking. "Okay, and after that, you need to lightly coat the outside skin…"
I breathe a sigh of relief. I can't stand Angela Weber, but she just saved my ass. "Thanks."
"No problem." She grins and looks forward, taking notes as the teacher continues talking.
I can't understand why she just helped me. I don't hate a lot of people in this world, but I despise anyone who messes with my Cottonseed. And Angela is the worst of the worst.
I lean back in the chair as Mrs. Meyers finishes up. "And so your partners for this assignment are as follows: Sam and Michael, Tyler and Erica Lee, Edward and Angela…"
My eyes lift up in shock. "Mrs. Meyers, I need a different partner. This ain't gonna work for me."
"And may I ask why not?"
'Cause Angela is a bitch. And she is the shit on the bottom of my shoe. And 'cause I don't want to have to look at her tiny ass skirt airing her nasty shit any longer than I have to.
"We don't get along," I answer honestly.
"Well, Mr. Masen, since she just gave you the answer to the last question I asked, I suggest you try and make it work."
Damn it! Angela snickers and scoots her chair closer to mine, twirling her hair around her finger. I hate it when girls do that shit, like its cute.
"Oh, come on!" Angela playfully slaps her clammy hand on my arm. "What did I ever do to you?"
I narrow my eyes, glaring at her. "You're fucking kidding, right?"
Angela crosses her legs and leans toward me. "Let's let bygones be bygones. 'Sides, I don't think you're that bad, Rowdy. Kinda hot, even."
She grins, her wide smile tainted by lipstick stains on her teeth.
"Don't even try that shit, Angela. You know I'm with my girl." I don't know what she's trying to pull, but I'm not falling for it. I shove her cold hand off of my arm and reach for the recipes that are being passed around the room.
"Stuffed chicken?" Angela asks, scanning the paper. "Seriously?"
I'm secretly thankful she's reading it because the words are nothing but a blur to me. My baby often tries to get me reading, but we get so distracted…
I grin, thinking of her. Cotton's the best damn thing that's ever happened to me. I miss her legs being wrapped around my waist, and how she giggles when she curses, and how she wears those silly boots she loves so much.
She's everything to me. I've never loved before, but with her, it's different. That girl has me wrapped around her delicate little finger. She's devoted too, something these girls around her know nothing about. She's stuck by me through thick and thin. One of these days, I'm going to pay her back.
With a ring.
I'm going to marry that girl if it's the last thing I do. And maybe I'm too young to be thinking about shit like that, but I can't help it. When I finally get myself back to normal, I'm going to the NFL and treating my baby to everything she deserves. She's done so much I can never fully pay her back, but I'm going to try my damnedest.
"Hello?" Angela waves her hands in front of me. "Earth to Rowdy."
"Sorry," I mumble. We walk to the front of the class, taking the baking pan and chicken that's been laid out for us. Everything else is located in one of the three refrigerators or cabinets that circle the room. Angela and I are stuck with station number one, the closest to the door, with the stove that only works half the time.
She makes a big presentation of bending over to reach the mixing bowls on the lower shelf. I turn around, unwrapping the chicken and washing it in the sink. When Angela realizes that I'm not paying any attention, she huffs and starts pouring ingredients for the herbed marinade in a bowl.
"You know," she begins, measuring cups of olive oil. "I'm surprised you're dating Gator Girl. She doesn't seem like your type."
I roll my eyes. "You call her that again and this conversation is over."
"Sorry," she says, but I can tell she's really not. "But I just don't get it."
"You ain't supposed to." I yank out the insides of the poultry, grimacing the whole time. Reaching into a chicken's ass was not how I expected today to go.
"But why? What does she have that I don't?"
"Oh, I don't know," I remark sarcastically. "Class, beauty, a fucking heart. You're too self-absorbed. You've looked at your reflection in the glass more times in five minutes than I do in a day. Cotton ain't like that. She's sweet and kind and I love her. So quit trying and stir the damn lemon juice in."
For the first time ever, Angela actually looks hurt. "I'm not always mean. But sometimes Bree and Victoria-"
I cut her off, holding up two hands covered in chicken grime. "Seriously, you're blaming your kinfolk for your actions? Grow up, Angela!"
Turning in disgust, I refuse to speak to her for the remainder of the extended period. She keeps trying though, touching me when I don't want her to, or laughing hard so her boobs bounce. She's sick.
I sit at the table while the chicken cooks, trying to complete the worksheet for the written portion of the assignment. I don't understand a single question. Angela disappeared after she gave an excuse for the bathroom over 15 minutes ago. I hope she falls in and gets flushed like the shit she is.
"Mrs. Meyers! Something's burning!" Mike yells from station two and I laugh, hoping someone is actually doing worse than I am.
I snort as I glance up, but he's pointing to our area. I curse, running to the oven and jerking it open. A billow of smoke comes out just as Mrs. Meyers walks over.
"Edward, is everything all right?"
I nod, turning the knob to the off position and slamming the door shut. "It's fine. Just fine." I cough, waving my arm in front of me. "I turned the oven too high, but it's not even close to being done."
"Okay. Just make sure it's not on higher than 350. That oven is an older one. I'd hate for you to burn your chicken and fail."
"Nope." I plaster a fake grin on my face as she starts to turn away. "It's looking great."
I breathe a sigh of relief when Tyler calls for her attention on the other side of the large room. I open the oven and use oven mitts to pull out the pan.
Sure enough, that shit is burnt to a crisp.
"Fuck!" I curse just as Angela comes back.
"What's wrong?"
I leave the chicken on the open oven door so no one notices. "Where the hell have you been? This shit is burnt to pieces!"
"I was only gone for a few." She glances down and I notice her twisted skirt and disheveled hair. Her lip gloss is smudged and the glitter is all over her face.
What a whore.
"We're going to fail, Angela! If I have to take this class my senior year, I'm going to fucking kill myself!"
I throw the mitts down.
"Calm down. There's got to be something we can do." She taps her foot, thinking. "Can't we just make another one?"
I stare at her in anger. "That's all you've got? Make another one? There are no more! There was only enough for each group."
Angela gets a wide grin on her face. "Not here, maybe, but I bet they have some in the cafeteria. We recook the chicken and turn that one in. Besides, she won't grade them until the end of the day. We're supposed to wrap them in foil and write our names on it. If we stick this one in the fridge and come back later, she'll never know."
I grin, actually agreeing with her crazy idea. "Good thinking. I'm in."
"Meet you back here during fourth period? I've got a study period then."
I'm actually supposed to be in chemistry, but fuck that. I've got a C in there. It's a low C, but a C nonetheless.
"Let's do it."
"Yes," Angela smirks, pressing her chest against my arm. "Let's."
.
.
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Right before I'm supposed to be in chemistry, I lean against the locker next to Cotton's as she comes bouncing down the hall. She's so fucking cute and her boots squeak against the linoleum floor. She grins when she sees me, and I fall more in love with her every damn time.
"Cottonseed." I wrap my arm around her shoulder, kissing the side of her neck. She loves it when I do that. I bet if I reached under her dress, she'd be wet as fuck. My girl does things that drive me insane, but it works both ways.
"Cut it out," she giggles. "I've got to hurry to class."
"You don't need class. You're smart enough as it is. Why don't you just run away with me?"
She slaps me on my chest. It's firmer than it used to be and I almost feel like my old self. I've been training like crazy and it's paying off.
"Really?" Cotton looks at me with wide brown eyes that I often find myself drowning in.
She's crazy beautiful, and I know she'd do anything to make me happy.
"I'm kidding. But eventually, Cottonseed, I'm going to marry your cute, little ass." I give her bottom a squeeze and she swats me away.
She fucking loves it.
"I'll be the one in white," she breathes, and I can't help myself. Even though we're in the middle of the hall on the second floor, I have to kiss her. She's my heart and my love and I need to taste her. Our lips connect and our tongues dart in and out of each other's mouths. I bite her bottom lip and press her back into the lockers.
My jeans grind against her center and I can practically feel myself inside of her.
It makes me groan, just thinking about it.
She's easy-lovin', heart-thumping, soft-kisses sweet.
I love my girl.
She pulls back first, breathless and grinning like I'm her world. "I've got to go, Rowdy. You're gonna make me late."
I pout and pretend to be offended.
"Oh stop it, you!" Cotton giggles. "Damn you and your pretty eyelashes."
I kiss her forehead and throw my arm around her shoulders. Several people greet me as we walk, giving high fives and pats on the back. The other players on the football team shout my name as I pass by and I give them the middle finger, which they laugh at. I don't get to play like they do, but they've seen me work my ass off and they respect it.
I pause at the doorway of Cotton's history class, but the other students are lined up at the door.
"Oh fiddlesticks!" she groans. "What kind of crap are we doing today?"
I smile at her innocent words and kiss her on the cheek. "I don't know, but you better be thinking about me."
"You know I will. Rowdy and Cotton, remember?" She raises her eyebrow, thinking of our names I carved into the town fountain.
"Forever."
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I've scrambled like crazy, getting a chicken from the cafeteria. I couldn't exactly steal the poultry since the lunch ladies were preparing lunch, but I charmed them into giving me the last one in their walk-in fridge. It's way fucking bigger than the one we had. I hope it shrinks after baking it.
I run upstairs, tossing the burnt chicken into the trash and stuffing it under a load of papers and bottles. Angela's not up here yet, so I prepare the marinade, trying to remember the recipe. I taste it on my tongue. It's a little off, but it'll have to do. Ten minutes later, Angela's ass still isn't up here.
She's such a lazy bitch. I swear, I will write my name on that shit and walk away, but that wouldn't be fair. I'm not that much of an ass, especially since she read the recipe to me.
I try putting the pan into the oven, but it won't fit.
I do not have time for this.
I'm pretty sure Angela knows how to work this thing, so I go looking for her. I remember her telling me she had a study period. Most students hang out in the library, so I go searching there first. It's packed with what looks like tenth graders, their heads buried in books. Noticing her sitting with Bree, I wave at her from the entrance.
She looks at her watch and I can practically hear her cursing.
She forgot.
Of course.
She races across the library.
"Fuck, Angela! You said you'd meet me upstairs!"
"I know, I'm sorry." She heads for the stairs, but we don't have time. If that chicken doesn't get in the oven within the next five minutes, we're screwed. I've timed it exactly so that by the time Mrs. Meyers' planning time and lunch period are over, we can put the chicken in the fridge.
I grab her arm roughly, turning left. "Forget the stairs. Let's take the elevator."
It opens right away and we make our way up to the third floor, hearts pounding the whole way.
We sprint to the classroom and I explain my predicament. "I've already prepared it, but it's bigger than the ones we got in class. I can't get it in."
"You have to adjust the oven shelves," she responds, taking out a rack and moving it lower.
We both try to put the pan in, but it's not working. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"
I panic, hoping I can push it hard, but it won't budge. The chicken is as big as a fucking turkey.
"Maybe we should just take the F," she sighs, breathing hard.
"Are you kidding me?" I hiss. "Try harder. I'm putting that shit in deep, you hear me, Angela? No more fucking around."
She's barely helping as it is.
Angela hears a noise outside and we pause for a second. No one enters, but it's makes us nervous.
"C'mon! Help me!" I groan. I officially hate this school and this oven, and especially Angela's lazy ass.
"We can't put it in. It won't fit. She'll fail us if she finds out!" Angela's voice is breathless as she finally shoves as hard as she can with me.
I realize the legs of the chicken are sticking up and getting caught on the rack.
"You're thinkin' about that bitch at a time like this? Spread those legs open. Wider…" Angela holds the legs down while I shove extremely hard. My belt digs into my stomach and I take it off, tossing it onto the floor. The button of my used jeans pops open, but I don't even bother with it.
This is beyond ridiculous.
Now the damn marinade is rubbing off. I hand Angela the bowl so she can reapply the mixture. She stands there, gaping at me in confusion.
"Look at you," I growl at her. "This was your fucking idea and you can't even handle it. Get that thing wet, girl…"
She applies the marinade and we push, push, push until it's almost inside.
"Don't stop, Rowdy!" Angela cries as we keep shoving. The oven shakes because of our continuous momentum.
"Fuck!" I yell out loud.
That bastard is finally in.
Hell to the yeah.
I may just pass this year after all.
"Let's get the heck out of here," I half-whisper. We toss everything into the dishwasher and afterwards, I fix my belt and jeans as I open the door.
The first thing I see is my baby.
"Cotton?"
She looks at me, with a tear-streaked face and red eyes.
I glance around, noticing what this looks like. I groan. No, baby. No, no, no. I would never… "Fuck. Listen, Cotton, I…"
She shoves me and I feel pain run up and down my body. The look on her face hurts me to the core. I'm too shocked to speak as I almost fall into Angela.
"Fuck is right!" She glares, pushing me again. "And you gave zero of them today. Or maybe one, it looks like. Damn you, Rowdy. I am over your shit. Done! I don't want to ever, ever, ever, see you again. Ever."
My heart constricts in my chest, almost as if it's unsure if it should keep beating. I reach out for her. I need to explain. Cotton Baby. Please, please, please. This isn't what it looks like. The pain is undeniable and it's worse than any type of medical condition I have.
At that moment, my wallet falls and along with it, a condom from Jasper that Cotton doesn't know about.
She laughs, and it haunts me to my inner being. I die as she runs away.
Angela smirks, almost as if she's happy Cotton's gotten the wrong idea.
I'm going to lose my life, my world, my reason for living…
All over a fucking chicken.