Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended.
A/N: Thanks to my lovely pre-readers Jaxy (Jax713) and Packy (_LittleLovely_) and my rock star beta Mel (mcc101180).
Lettuce get on with this so we can be on speaking terms again... maybe. ;)
Chapter 5. Out of Control.
I storm out of the locker room, pass the hallway, and come out of the restricted area in mere seconds — I'm still wearing my cleats for fuck's sake.
I see Miss Swan, resting against the wall, her mic swinging from her hand. A tall, broad-shouldered guy stands next to her, the huge video camera next to his feet.
Without really knowing what I'm doing, or what I'm going to say, I march over to them. The only thing I know is that this won't end well, but my body is acting without reason at the moment.
When her eyes shoot up in my direction, she smacks her cameraman on the shoulder — prompting him to get ready — and moves to stand right in front of me.
Her eyes scan my face, taking in the damage inflicted by James. For a second, I think her gaze shows some concern, but it's quickly replaced by a defiant stare. I haven't even looked at myself in the mirror yet, but judging by her expression, I must look like hell. Granted I haven't showered, I'm drenched in sweat, and there's probably still blood on my face.
She seems uncertain for a second, like she doesn't know how to proceed. She fumbles with her mic, turning it around in her hand.
As she stands before me, I can't help but notice how she stretches her neck, looking up at me, since her height puts the top of her head barely at level with my shoulder.
God, she's so small.
She's over a foot shorter than me, even in those heels.
How can such a little thing make me so fucking angry? I shake my head and try to regain my train of thought. Right, I was pissed at her.
"You—" I start, but she cuts me off.
"Your take on the game and your red card, Mr. Cullen?" She lifts the microphone close to my neck.
Her guy has that camera on me too, with a light blinding me, and I suddenly feel attacked.
"Get that camera out of my face," I hiss to him, but he doesn't back down.
My blood boils, and I swat a hand at the lens.
"Hey! What the fuck is your problem?" he barks back at me, without moving the camera.
"I told you to get that shit out of my face!"
"Hey, stop. Stop!" Miss Swan puts a hand on his chest. "Jake, back off," she says to him, and he complies, I think. My eyes are glued to her hand on his chest, and I don't understand the feral anger that her touching him provokes in me.
When she turns back to me and brings the mic closer again, I am pretty certain I won't be able to control my word vomit.
She puts a finger on her earpiece and sighs. "What's your impression of the referee?"
Don't insult the ref, don't insult the ref, don't—
"The ref was a fucking joke!" The words roll out of my mouth before I can help it. Miss Swan looks down, as if disappointed. "If anything, we should have both been sent off. Didn't he see how many hits I took, or how James elbowed me in the nose, before I gave that one back to him?"
She's playing with that damn earpiece again, frowning at whatever is being said to her. It's a little distracting, to be honest. "So, you are admitting your blow was intentional, then?" Her tone is controlled, resigned.
"No, I'm not! All I'm saying is we were both on each other. It appears like some players can't even be touched, but in my case, everyone can hit me as hard as they want."
"Do you have anything to say to your fans?"
And I'm lost, because no matter what I say, this is a dead-end. I give up with a sigh.
"What do you want me to say?" I search her eyes as I push back the hair stuck to my forehead.
"Well, you could start by apologizing."
"Apologize? I've got nothing to apologize for!"
"Interview's over." Bernard comes out of nowhere and grabs my elbow, pulling me back, rescuing me from the swarm of cameras and mics. I hadn't even realized there was a crowd of reporters surrounding us.
My eyes are fixed on Miss Swan's, and she holds my gaze defiantly. I'm thankful for Bernard holding me back because the anger boiling inside of me is like one I've never experienced before. I've never been violent with a girl — woman — but the overwhelming need to get my hands on her, around her neck to be more specific, is almost blinding and all-consuming.
Once we pass the restricted area doors, Bernard lets go of my elbow.
"Goddammit!" I kick the wall in rage.
I did it again! I made a fool of myself in front of the cameras. I let her have that power over me.
I stay in the hallway, breathing hard, with my hands on my knees, as Bernard stands quietly behind me.
I seriously doubt this day could get any worse. But of course, Waylon comes right away to prove me wrong. "Where the fuck were you?"
I don't look at him. My eyes remain on the floor as I see a drop of blood fall.
Shit, my nose is bleeding again.
"The medic staff said you refused to let them look at your nose or your hand," Waylon continues as I get up and run a hand under my nose, wincing, and then wipe the blood on my shorts.
"Edward, for fuck's sake!" Waylon has a hand on my shoulder. "Get your shit together, son."
I stand with my hands on my hips, staring at Waylon as he leaves me and Bernard alone in the hallway. I feel like everything is collapsing around me, and I can't breathe — I can't think. I'm afraid I won't be able to get my shit together, not until I face Miss Swan.
I turn to Bernard. "Get me that reporter."
"But, Edward…"
"Bring her here, now."
"Here where? The lads are still in the dressing room. You're set to leave in an hour."
"Dammit, Bernard! Just get her somewhere so I can talk to her... ALONE!"
~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~
I take a quick shower and avoid everyone like the plague. Once in the infirmary, the medics clean and check my nose, and bandage my hand — neither is broken, just severely bruised. After refusing the pain meds they offer, they finally clear me and leave me the fuck alone.
I wait in the room for Bernard to bring me Miss Swan. I'm not quite sure what I want to do with her yet. For some reason, I feel like I need to explain myself to her. I hate how I come off with the press, but they bring the worst out of me, and I don't want that anymore. On the other hand, I also want to put her in her place and tell her to her face that she's a little fucking shit-stirrer. Which side of me will prevail remains to be decided.
I have about twenty minutes before our bus leaves. I pace in the room and wait until I hear the distinct sound of her high heels approaching.
I'm disappointed to see that when Bernard opens the door, the cameraman is standing next to Miss Swan.
"No camera," I say to her, pointing at him.
"Told you," I hear Bernard whisper.
"Jake, it's okay," she says, again with a hand on his chest.
Can't she just talk to him without touching him? Or is he fucking deaf?
She steps in the room, and Bernard closes the door behind her. She pulls out her earpiece which is connected to a black box behind her belt. She turns a little knob on the box until it clicks, and then she puts it back into place.
With her hands on her hips, she looks at me quizzically. I'm trying to form words, but she's wearing one of those skirts that starts at her waist, ends just above her knees, and hugs every single inch of her form. To make matters worse, the white button up she has on has the top two buttons opened, showing some provocative cleavage.
I'm equally parts turned on and pissed off. I close my eyes and run a hand through my damp hair, deciding that, at this point, my anger surpasses my attraction to her — barely.
"Is there a problem?" she asks calmly.
"Yes. I have a problem with you provoking me," I say as I open my eyes. The double meaning of my words is not lost to me.
"I was just doing my job." Her tone is as defensive as her stance with crossed arms over her chest.
"No. You most definitely were not. You were purposely trying to humiliate me!" My raised voice makes her flinch, and even though her stare is still defiant, she takes a step back, her arms dropping to her sides.
"You did that all on your own, Mr. Cullen." Her chest rises and falls with her accelerated breathing, as I move even closer, my body just acting on pure instinct.
My hand closes around her elbow, and I'm breathing hard, my nose flaring. The feel of the skin of her arm sends a burst of flames through my hand. I don't think I've ever been angrier in my whole life.
Her eyes search mine, and even though I feel completely out of control, she doesn't seem scared. "If you don't let go of my arm right this second, I'm going to scream, and then you'll be in real trouble, Mr. Cullen."
Her warning does nothing to calm me down. If anything, it just makes me crazier. I inch even closer, panting, my mind clouded by rage. As I press my body on hers against the door, her heat incinerates me, and my anger slowly transforms into something else. The fire that I mistakenly confused for rage a couple seconds ago is now demanding that I claim her mouth. My eyes dart from her lips to her eyes and back.
"Then scream," I hiss, pressing myself flush against her. Her breath hitches. Her tongue peeks from her mouth and darts over her bottom lip, giving me all the invitation I need.
My lips are roughly on hers, and she whimpers, her breathing coming out harshly through her nose. My bandaged hand flies to her neck, under her hair, and pulls her face closer to me, while the other one moves from her elbow to her waist.
When her hands pull at the hair at the back of my neck, I can't contain the groan that escapes my mouth as I grind myself against her.
How could I have gone from wanting to rip her throat out to aching to claim her body right here, right now?
"What are you doing to me?" My voice is barely a whisper, as I leave her mouth for air. My panting is becoming embarrassing, and I have to hold on to the wall behind her.
"Please, get off of me." The voice of her plea is small, but the authority it conveys resonates within me. She loosens the fist that is grasping my hair, and her hand drops, brushing my shoulder and chest. I use the wall as leverage and painfully push myself away from her.
I'm struggling for breaths. I don't know what has gotten into me. My career is on the verge of collapse, and I just assaulted a reporter in the infirmary room.
Eyes down, I try to collect myself while I search for the words to apologize to her. I manage to take a couple deep breaths, but before I can say anything, my head is turned with a painful smack on my left cheek.
What the—
"I'm sorry, Mr. Cullen, but I think you've mistaken me for one of your whores." Her eyes are wild with anger, and she's grabbing her hand. If the stinging on my face or the throbbing on my nose is any indication, she put substantial force into that slap.
We glare at each other for a couple seconds until she turns around, opens the door and hurries out. I hear the clicking of her heels and the voice of her Neanderthal cameraman calling "Bells!" behind her.
I palm the side of my face and wipe more blood coming out of my nose, completely overcome with the happenings of this day.
Let's recount: elbow to nose, check. Unfair red-card, check. Slap on the face, check.
This day couldn't possibly get any worse, right?
Wrong.
I walk through the snake pit again, with explicit instructions not to talk to anybody. I'm determined not to look at them, not to listen to them, so that I'm not even tempted to peek at her.
I look straight ahead, but when I walk outside, I'm surprised by the angry expressions on the fans' faces. I remove my headphones, and that's when I hear the boos.
They are booing me.
When Emmett steps out behind me, the boos transform into cheers.
Oh great. Just fucking great!
On the way back to the hotel, I do a quick search on my phone and look at some of the news already bashing me out, calling me things like "spoiled brat", "idiot" and "stupid boy."
Boy? I'm twenty-four for fuck's sake!
I hold my face on my hands, trying to figure out how this could be happening to me. This World Cup was supposed to be the peak of my career, my golden time, and now everything's ruined.
~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~
While we have dinner at the hotel, Emmett and Jasper go on and on about the game. They direct some comments at me, but I disregard them. When one of the assistants comes to us, I don't even look at him.
"Miss Isabella Swan is here to interview you."
I look up at the mention of her name. I want to tell him that she can go fuck herself, but in reality, I want to apologize to her. I just don't think I'm in the best mood for that right now.
"Oh, is she now?" I lean against the back of the chair and cross my arms over my chest.
"Not you," the assistant says and then points at Emmett. "Him."
"All right now..." Emmett says, standing up, a smug smile on his face. "I'm gonna go see what cute little Miss Swan wants." He bites into an apple before he walks away.
Of course she's here to interview Emmett — he was the hero of the game. I refrain from banging my head against the table because my nose is really fucking hurting at this point.
~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~
Somehow I find myself pacing outside of the room where I know she's interviewing him. I know I should just go to bed, but I can't. I want to face her — I need to see her.
When Emmett comes out, followed by Miss Swan's cameraman carrying the equipment, I duck out of view. Once their footsteps disappear down the corridor, I peek my head out and see that she's in the room by herself, picking up her stuff.
I don't think about it twice and storm in.
"Why don't you want to interview me?!" She startles at the sound of my voice and drops the papers she is holding. She arranges them quickly on the table before she turns to face me, a controlled expression on her face. "I carried that game on my shoulders until the very end," I continue, my voice strained. "And then one mistake — ONE! — and now everyone is acting like I'm the villain here."
She rubs two fingers on her forehead while her other hand sets on her hip. She seems to be gathering her thoughts and when she speaks, she sounds jaded. "How do you want them to act? Have you heard yourself? The stuff that comes out of your mouth sometimes..."
"What's wrong with being confident?" I push, getting closer, my body not able to resist the pull she has on me.
"You're not confident. You're a pretentious and arrogant asshole."
Oh, that's it.
I cage her against the table, my breath coming out of my nose like an angry bull about to charge. She makes my blood fucking boil.
She looks down, shaking her head. "I'm sorry. That went too far."
I lift her chin up with two fingers. My hand is trembling with the effort of not gripping her harder than I intend to.
I want to yell at her, tell her that she's biased, that she's wrong, but most of all, I just want to kiss her again.
She stares at me as her gaze slowly softens, and I wonder what I look like to her. "You should go rest. You're tired and volatile. You're letting your anger get the best of you."
"I've had a shitty day. I deserve to be in a shitty mood." My face inches closer to hers on pure instinct.
"Don't you dare kiss me, Edward Cullen."
I groan, staring at her lips. My tongue slips from my mouth and wets my bottom lip. I really just want to fucking kiss her.
"I've already told you; I'm not your type." Her judgmental tone stabs at my sanity.
"What do you know about my type, huh?" I spit the words angrily as my eyes search hers again.
She holds my gaze while her hand moves to mine and peels my fingers off her chin. The moment the skin of her palm makes contact with my hand, I am paralyzed with the overwhelming calm that creeps through me.
In the next second, she drops my hand and brings hers to my cheek, where she slapped me about an hour ago. "Why are you so angry?" Her soft tone and the feeling of her hand on my cheek completely disarm me, to the point my knees feel weak, and I have to lean onto the table behind her for support.
Coming undone, I exhale shakily, the reality of the day hitting me hard, and only now realizing how exhausted I truly am. Without my permission, my head drops to her shoulder and I take in a deep breath. The moan that escapes my lips has nothing to do with the painful way my nose is pressing against her collarbone, but everything to do with how right it feels to be close to her.
The moment ends way too soon, her hand is gone from my face, the connection is broken, and she is squeezing out from under me.
"I should go," she says, moving away from me. I use both hands to hold me up on the table.
I want to beg her to stay and hold me a little longer, but I don't really think I have the courage to make that confession yet. The truth is, I can't let her go, not without knowing when I'll see her again. And I need to see her again. I really don't know what the hell is going on or how she just broke me like that, but when I hear her heels click away, my own words surprise me. "Will you be in Rio tomorrow?"
We travel to Rio the Janeiro tomorrow for the semifinals. If she's covering our game, she should be going there too.
The clicking of her heels stops, but she doesn't answer. When I turn to look up at her, I see she's facing the door. "Will you?" I insist.
She turns slowly, biting her lip. She eyes me suspiciously and blinks once, twice.
"Why do you want to know?"
"I want to take you out to lunch." My guard is down as I implore her with my eyes. "As an apology, you know? For being such a pretentious and arrogant asshole."
She smiles minutely and looks down, shaking her head.
"Please," I say, moving away from the table and coming closer to her. "Just one meal."
"I don't know if that's such a good idea."
"Why not?"
"I…" Her eyes are still down, her lip trapped between her teeth again.
"Don't make me beg, Miss Swan." I stand in front of her as she slowly peeks up at me.
"Okay, lunch." Her eyes search mine as if she's trying to see through me. "And please call me Bella."
"Okay, Bella." Even under my current mood, I can feel a grin creeping on my face. "Can I pick you up tomorrow at your hotel?"
She nods once and gives me a tiny smile. She fumbles in her purse until she takes out a card and a pen. She writes on the back of it before she hands it to me, and then she's gone.
I look at the card, fully smiling at her digits and at the turn this day took.
T-minus eighteen hours to lunch with Bella.
A/N: Sooooo, what do you guys think? Did Bella go easy on him? Do you think she will?
Thank you all who have reviewed! I love hearing your thoughts, so please keep them coming.
Ronnie
