For anyone that is wondering, Edward is 26 in this fanfic.
:D
The song I am listening to that is COMPLETELY inappropriate for this chapter: Love Drunk by Boys Like Girls. But it's good. Go check it out!
BPOV
The water felt good sliding along my skin. The hot liquid nearly scalded me, the soap cleansing the filth from my flesh. I sank gratefully into the full tub, my breath catching at the heat. It had been so long since I had felt the warmth of a bath.
Father had only allowed Jessica and I to bathe once a week while he made sure to shower daily. I had never seen the logic behind the rule. Whenever I had heard the tinkling of the water droplets pelting the bottom of the shower, it had taken all my strength to keep from flushing the toilet or doing something else as petty.
I stared down into the water at my battered body, at the skin that had once been so smooth and flawless. I could only imagine how badly Jessica was hurt. What had Father done after I was left at the foot of the front steps? Had he walked back inside and continued punishing her?
Closing my eyes against tears of frustration at being so helpless to save my sister, I ran my hands softly over my skin, the soap lathering between my fingers. As long as I didn't apply pressure, I was able to wash myself without pain. The hot water was heavenly, a simple pleasure that went straight to my bones. I smiled and closed my eyes. I didn't know how long I remained in the bathtub, only that the water cooled and steam no longer rose from the surface.
I wanted to remain forever in that ocean of filthy suds. I wished that it was the only world I had ever known, that pain and fists, blood and bone had never entered my life. The fragile barrier of innocence that covered us all as children was inevitably torn away by the harsh brutalities of life, sometimes shredded piece by piece until you stood, shivering and naked before a crowd of doctors as they probed and prodded you with metal rods.
Now the cold water sent chills skittering uncomfortably over my flesh.
Rising from the cold water, I looked around for a towel, shivering as the air chilled my wet skin. I didn't see a single towel anywhere in the bathroom. Glancing down at my clothing, I wondered if I could somehow dry myself with the shredded cloth without smearing dirt over my now-clean skin.
Maybe he could bring a towel. And possibly a change of clothing. "Hello?" I called, suddenly realizing that I didn't know his name. "Hello? Can I please have a change of clothes? Maybe just a t-shirt."
I paused to hear if there was any sort of drawers opening and closing – something to indicate that he had heard me. But there was only the silence roaring in my ears and the utter loneliness I felt in the quiet air around me.
Abruptly the door swung open, revealing my angel. There was a small towel over his right arm and a large swatch of black fabric beside it. His forest-green eyes moved from my face to my naked body, sliding over my skin like a damp cloth – wet and hot. I was frozen with shock, my mind shrieking for me to conceal myself, to cover my nakedness.
But I didn't move.
With my heart accelerating and chill bumps exploding over my skin, I stood in the bathtub as the soapy, gritty water drained. His eyes caressed my exposed form like a lover's breath over the most secret of places.
His stare, so intent that my hands began to shake, ignited a small flickering flame inside me. The candle flame within me was something I had only experienced once or twice before, the smoke from it swirling inside my veins, curling tightly between my legs.
He stepped into the bathroom, dropping the fabrics he held to the ground. Slowly, his arm lifted as he moved towards me, as if he wanted to touch my ugly skin.
Then he stood inches from me on the other side of the edge of the tub. His beautiful, tortured eyes were so close to mine, the dark emerald irises drowning in mental pain and emotional turmoil.
I felt the heat from his body, smelt the scent of his skin, masculine yet not unpleasant. For the longest moment I wanted to lean in and draw my nose over his flesh to inhale his distinctive scent.
"Who has done this to you?" His voice was soft with awe yet slightly tinged with the anger that always seemed to accompany his voice. His eyes drifted down to my body – over my breasts that had miraculously escaped most of the bruising, then over my marred abdomen and the dark patch of hair between my legs. "Who has hurt you like this?" he demanded, his voice almost breaking. Then, cautiously – as if he was afraid I would shatter like a glass slipper – he brushed his fingers over my stomach. The touch was so light that it didn't entice the agonizing pain that occurred whenever I moved. At the feel of his warm fingertips, my breath caught and I couldn't have moved even if I had wanted to. My eyes widened as my body yearned for him in strange, unfamiliar ways.
"Tell me," he insisted, his voice barely a whisper. "Tell me who has done this to you."
"If only I could tell." Even to my own ears, my voice sounded brittle and pathetic – broken.
I felt as if I was suddenly sinking into the depths of his eyes, unable to breathe with his fingers moving ever closer to my breasts.
"Why can't you tell me?"
If I could have laughed at that question, I would have. Why couldn't I tell him? Because he would learn that Father was abusive and that Jessica was still with him. For some reason, the thought of him knowing this sent a fear so irrational and paralyzing through me. What would he do with that information? Would he simply kick me out, not wanting to have to deal with the drama of an abused nineteen year old? And what if he told the police and they took Jessica away . . . I would never see her again. No, I had to keep it to myself.
But of course I couldn't laugh.
And I didn't.
"What is your name?" he asked gently, his paternal tone blending oddly with the way his hand smoothed over my stomach.
His hand was so close to my breast, so near. My hands shook and I struggled to keep my breathing as even as possible. Unfamiliar longings swept through me like blades of grass on a hurricane gale. Strange, intense longings that made my core tighten and my breasts become overly sensitive.
"Bella," I answered, thankful that my voice was somewhat more sure.
I wanted him to touch me.
Oh, how I wanted his hands on me. Not once in my life had I wanted something this badly. The few boys I had touched, and the ones I had let touch me, none of them had inspired such yearning within me. Yet my desire was so much more than just physical. Foolishly, I believed that he could touch not only my body, but my spirit. The lifelessness in my soul terrified me. Why couldn't I feel any urgency or panic at my situation? I was in a strange man's home, naked, as he touched me – I should be frightened, or at least repulsed. I wanted to give up, to just forget to eat or swallow handfuls of the unknown prescriptions that he kept in the medicine cabinet.
I wanted him to give me back the dignity that had been so brutally stripped away, to give me my strength and wipe away the humiliation I felt in my bones.
But of course he couldn't.
EPOV
I prayed that it was my eyes deceiving me, that no one could inflict such damage on a girl. Cuts and bruises scored her body, predominantly her abdomen.
I hated the obscene thoughts I had of her. But even her battered form held a kind of tragic beauty.
And although I knew I had to get rid of her, I was still a man with a man's needs. My jeans became tight and I hoped she wouldn't look down. Her skin was softer than I had imagined, her breasts smaller than some but perfectly shaped with the dark pink nipples taut and erect. My eyes locked on that feature, my eyebrows furrowing – could it be possible that my touch aroused her?
Abruptly I turned away, angry at myself for allowing her to sway me.
No. No, I couldn't permit myself to feel anything for her – not pity or sympathy, and certainly not lust. The last was the most inappropriate and dangerous. The last thing she needed was any type of sexual tension.
Growling in frustration, I shoved the towel and over-sized shirt into her arms, not meeting her eyes. Not pausing, I walked quickly out of the bathroom, shoving the door shut too hard.
Oh fuck, how could this happen? If I was smart, I would ruthlessly kick her out into the street and be finished with her. But I couldn't. Deep within myself, I knew that I didn't want her to leave, and that was the thing that most infuriated me. Despite my attempts to distance myself from her, I was drawn to this girl – Bella – with a magnetism that was not entirely healthy, not to mention lethal.
And no matter how badly I wanted to deny it, her bruises ignited the most painful of all memories. I remembered with agonizing clarity the night in which mother taught me her last lesson of death. Clenching my eyes shut, I pushed the images back as I leaned heavily against the closet door. Emotions that I had repressed for the last ten years now boiled relentlessly inside me.
Quickly, I walked to the TV, flipping it on simply to purge my mind of the harsh and bitter memories. Yet they persisted.
There was the slight resistance of the trigger as a finger tightened, pulling it. The spray of the blood. The thud of a delicate body crumbling to the floor.
The worst sin I had ever committed.
The first murder in what would be a lifetime of slayings.
Then the bathroom door opened slowly, almost hesitantly, and I saw the girl. It was hard for me to think of her by her name, Bella. I didn't want to think of her as Bella – that would make her too real, to easy to pity. And it would cause my resolve to crumble if I thought of her as the broken girl she was.
The black t-shirt hung off her frame like a parachute even though it extended only to her mid-thigh. Her limbs were shockingly thin and I couldn't withhold the surprise that washed over me. Had she really been so thin just a few minutes ago, when I looked at her naked body? For the first time, I truly saw how utterly tired she looked . . . and how afraid and confused. I tightened my hands on the arms of the chair, making myself stay in my seat and not go to her. I wanted desperately to wrap her tightly in a thick blanket and feed her large quantities of chicken soup as she lay in my dingy bed.
I had never seen eyes so haunted. Why hadn't I noticed that before? Why hadn't I seen the pain that was etched into her dark eyes? Against the dark black of the t-shirt, her skin was chalk-white, the blue of her veins visible through her translucent skin.
She looked so . . . fragile.
"Thank you," she whispered. Her voice was hesitant and meek, and I instantly felt callous for how I had been treating her. She stood awkwardly in the doorway – unsure of what to do.
"Sit down," I said, softening my tone. I gestured to the bed that was only feet away from where I sat in the chair. She walked slowly to the bed, her wet hair hanging down her back. Despite the delicate state she seemed to be in, her movements were filled with an uncanny grace. She sat heavily on the edge of the bed, curling her legs Indian style.
The hem of the black shirt rode up to her waist, the place between her legs now exposed.
All at once, I felt a rush of blood to my already hard member. She was still damp there from the bath water . . . or perhaps it was because of what had occurred between us. My eyes stayed fixed on that part of her, my breathing beginning to quicken. In a single moment, thousands of visions filled my mind of each and every way I could explore that area of her. Suck her until she ran dry, fuck her in so many positions she wouldn't know which way was up. My balls began to throb with the force of my need. Tearing my eyes away from the seductive place between her legs, I looked back into her eyes and immediately felt ashamed for my obscene thoughts. She didn't deserve to be treated so disrespectfully. This girl, who had been so brutally beaten, didn't need to have me staring at her.
The only sound between us was the television.
"I don't know how to repay you," she finally said.
"You don't have to."
"Yes I do," she insisted.
I sighed. Damn, this girl was stubborn.
"What is your name?" she asked then, her voice carrying more strength than I had ever heard from her. Glancing up at her, I saw her eyes fixed intently on me, as if she was trying to unravel my soul to learn each and every dark secret. Reflexively, I shied away from such prying eyes. I debated on ignoring her but I knew that having at least something to call me would make our situation so much less difficult and awkward.
"Edward," I said finally, gritting my teeth as I spoke. I couldn't say exactly why I so wanted to keep my name from her except for the fact that the thought of her knowing anything personal about me automatically put me on high alert.
"Edward," she repeated, the word rolling softly off her tongue like a thick drop of amber liquid from a honey jar. "It is an old fashioned name."
"Yep," I muttered lowly.
"It suits you."
xXx
BPOV
I fell asleep a few minutes after he left to work at a coffee shop. He wouldn't tell me where it was though and told me stay in the apartment and not to leave. The apartment building apparently wasn't the safest place to be alone.
I slept so deeply that darkness was my only companion. For once, there was no terrifying memories and no screaming as I woke. I was so tired . . . so exhausted. It was so easy to simply lie down on the bed and forget to think or move.
There was only the soft sheets and darkening sky as night once again descended.
The door opening woke me and my eyes slowly opened to complete darkness. After attempting to sit up, I knew that was a horrible mistake. My body felt as if I had been beat with a sledge hammer repeatedly, ruthlessly. I cringed and blinked back tears, struggling to keep silent. Years of punishment for crying in front of Father were hard to forget. He never liked to see Jessica or me crying. If we did, our punishment would be that much worse.
The bed dipped beside me, as if someone had just climbed in beside me. I froze, suddenly no longer tired. My heart beat quicker as I tried to remember where I was. I couldn't seem to remember anything. But then everything rushed to me so fast I forced back my gasp. The body beside me warm and solid, firmly muscled yet relaxed in slumber. He was sleeping.
Edward was sleeping beside me in this bed.
Did he even remember I was lying here also?
Perhaps he was just too tired to remember. Taking a deep, quiet breath, I turned towards him, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. I saw the lines of his body, the usually pale skin dark in the night. He was facing me, lying on his side on top of the blankets, and was utterly and completely naked.
Abruptly, I forgot to breathe and my heart rate skyrocketed, soaring through the ceiling. I moved backwards reflexively, astonished to be so close to his naked form. Now I was sure he didn't remember I was here. Did he always sleep nude?
I tried to look away.
I tried so hard.
But something kept my eyes on him. His face wasn't angry or frustrated like it had been most of today. Instead it was serene. My eyes moved from his seraphic face – the few small scars marring his otherwise flawless skin – to his throat and strong, broad chest. He was mostly hairless, a fact which I noticed with appreciation. His abdomen was lithely muscled and firm, his arms hugging the pillow to him in a way that was almost childish. And then there were his hips and that V that pointed to the place I couldn't look away from. I had never seen a naked man before and the sight sent jitters through my blood and a strange yearning between my legs.
His member was soft but long and thick. Dark hair curled around its base and his balls were nestled close behind his penis. I felt a dark blush blossom over my face yet I continued to stare. The sight of his manhood was so foreign to me. I had touched a covered cock before but I had never seen one. Of its own accord, my hand reached out, hesitating just before my fingertips brushed the head of his cock.
Biting my lip, I leaned forward and brushed my fingers over the head of his dick.
Immediately, I felt it move, twitching slightly. His fingers tightened on the pillow and his hips pushed slowly into my hand, causing my hand to rub down his shaft. A deep, barely-audible groan left his lips. Astonished as his reactions to this, I glanced from his face then back to his penis which was nestled in my hand. Experimenting, I moved my hand slowly down to the base of his member, my lips turning upwards when he moaned and bucked his hips.
Curious, I moved my fingers to his sac, feeling the foreign object.
Suddenly I realized what I was doing. My eyes widened and I yanked my hand away as if it had been scalded by a hot stove. I cried out softly, nearly falling off the side of the bed in my haste. Frantically, I gripped the edge of the bed to keep from falling.
Then the bedroom was all too silent. He was awake.
And he knew what had happened.
Slowly I brought my eyes up to his green ones that stared relentlessly into mine. The look I saw there made me clamp my legs tightly together to keep me from moistening. If I was wet it would be terribly uncomfortable considering I wasn't wearing anything other than his black t-shirt.
Unable to help myself, my eyes flickered to his now hard penis.
"Come here," he said softly, the sound like an ocean breeze against my breasts, tightening the nipples.
BEFORE anyone goes assuming, Edward might have more than one thing planned when he asked Bella to come to him. Just so you know. I don't want anyone to assume ANYTHING. Please?
So, guys, this story isn't upholding the standard I have set for myself. That means that I am seriously thinking about deleting this. It's not final yet and I'm still deliberating, but I feel like this story is shit, pardon my language. Your opinion would mean so much to me. Thank you. Please tell me if you think I should continue or not.
AND breenieweenie made a youtube trailer for my story Dark Whispers, if anyone would like to see that! It's SO effing AMAZING!!! Go check it out, guys - the link is on my profile.
-Oriana
