My betas are the best. No contest.
Dawnie, your support is incredible. Thank you.
Allison, your observations are invaluable. Merci beaucoup.
*sigh* I do not own Twilight.
The porch whispers secrets under my feet, as it has a hundred times before. The colors are vibrant, burning, and I am hyper aware; I feel the cold, smooth metal under my palm, the warm spring sun caressing my shoulders, my long hair dancing across my back.
My hand wraps around my doorknob, rotates: it's locked, but I expected as much. However, the air is crisp and clean, and I'm home, and I value the moment without annoyance. I'm having a lot of these appreciative, reflective flashes lately, since I've been away at college. It's sort of nice.
But something is wrong now, and I swallow a strong sense of déjà vu that isn't lessening. The vulnerability is stifling; I'm distantly aware that I've been here before, yet powerless to stop.
Don't go in there. My own voice speaks to me. Go back to the dorm, to Alice…
But my begging is soundless, and body continues to move, fumbling with my keys, acting out motions that feel oddly practiced.
Its spring break and, interestingly, I'm actually excited to be back. This is definitely a new phenomenon, me being happy to be here.
It's so stupid, but… I'm anxious to show my dad my new jersey. I mean, I'm eighteen years old, for shitsake, in college, a grown woman… and yet I'm still excited to tell my father that I made the team. I feel silly, like a little girl excitedly displaying a picture of a terrible purple giraffe, or of people with arms and legs sticking out directly from their heads.
I smirk; I made the team handily, too: I smoked those other chicks at the try-outs.
The key rotates in the lock with a click.
My first meet is coming up, and I'm confident I'll win my first run of the season. Alice makes fun of my feet, cracked and covered in blisters from the daily training. I just lob pillows at her across our dorm room, flip her off, and tell her to come to the meet so she can kiss my ass when I come in a full two minutes ahead of every other bitch in the 5000 meter.
My father will probably be proud of me. I bite my lip as I push the door with my shoulder, precariously balancing bags and books. He'll almost certainly have some time for me tonight, and we can talk track and eat whatever I cook from the undoubtedly pitiful inventory in the pantry.
I wonder if he'll notice anything different about me. That I'm different. Happier.
We have a lot to talk about, my dad and I… and I think I'm finally ready to do that.
Maybe.
I laugh, the sound mirroring my mood: high and hopeful. Hell… maybe he'll come to watch me run. I chuckle and shake my head. Don't get your hopes up, Bella. But I do.
But there is an ache, too, deep and disconnected. Under the surface of this scene I mourn because somehow I know, my heart knows what happens next. I can only go on, an actor in a film playing out to its inevitable ending.
"Dad!" My bags land with a heavy thump inside the door. I doubt Charlie is even home yet; its 6pm on a Friday night, so he's probably still at work. But my optimism gets the better of me and I turn toward the stairs and call out again, "Dad, I'm home!"
"Bella."
A name like a bullet, sure-aimed and lethal. I am rooted to the spot.
I'm trapped, but my frozen figure doesn't quite know it yet, and suddenly it's like I'm looking at myself from a distance: this young, hopeful girl that has truly blossomed since being at college, away from the loneliness of this house. With Alice, who helped her find my laugh. With school, which I genuinely enjoy, and at which I am excelling.
Some impossible piece of me recognizes the Bella I could have been. And that might be the worst part.
As my conscious mind screams for salvation, my body turns slowly toward the voice that I sometimes wish I could forget, but know I never will.
She is sitting on the beige couch, the one that I had helped Charlie pick out two years ago. At this point, she is an oddity in this room, an anachronism, an errant blue thread in a white tapestry. I am surprised that she still had the audacity to use her key, to walk into this house like she has any claim here. She has some clothes upstairs, I believe – Charlie would never have thrown them out – and she occupies some pictures; her name liters pieces of random mail and a still-valid marriage certificate... but for all intents and purposes, my mother hasn't really lived here for years now.
Yet here she sits, on that damn beige couch.
I felt that odd shapeless strain again, uselessly urging action. But there's nothing I can do about that now. Right now, I am eighteen year old Bella, standing dumbfounded, a pathetic happiness and a furious roar simultaneously building in my chest at the sight before me.
Renee is undeniably beautiful. I have my father's chocolate eyes, but I have her nearly everything else: petite and lean, heart-shaped face and fiery temper. Identical noses. Charlie's hair is jet black and just now earning the spatter of salt and pepper that elevates males from simply "handsome" to the coveted "distinguished," but Renee and I had the same shade of chestnut brown. Small hands and feet, full lips, ears that are slightly too big.
My mother leans forward and my mind recoils, a wave of panic sweeping through me. Feelings surge, viscous and ropey, almost choking my breath: the duality of the anger and resentment crashing up against the desire to run to her, feel her arms wrap around me, the undying desire to forgive.
But in her hesitation, I recognize that there must be something going on. She is here, first of all; there was no phone call alerting me to her arrival, which is her typical routine. She is poised strangely, too: ram-rod straight, shoulders square, fingers knotted in her lap.
I notice an object that is out of place in the room. I have never seen it before, and to avoid her eyes I focus on it now, big and full and clear as day, sitting alone on the coffee table. And suddenly, for no reason, I feel panic, both remembered and real, as I stare at the offending item.
The photo album.
I realize that I haven't said anything. I don't move a step closer to her or back out the door. I stay planted, confused and tense. I wait.
Renee smiles, and I suddenly hate this. I am sure now that this is a dream, impossibly aware that this is a repetition of the past. Stuck between now and then.
"Bella," Renee says again. She sweeps her hand across her forehead. Tugs at her bangs, tucks them behind her ear.
She pats the sofa next to her. "Come sit next to me, sweetie. I need to talk to you about something."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Bella. Saturday.
"I need to talk to you about something…"
The rain tapped a steady cadence against my window. Morning filtered sharply through my gummy eyelids, substituting light for fast-fading colors.
Whoa. Where was I just then?
I moaned, flexing stiff fingers, wiggling toes that were still held captive in silver flats. My teeth were wearing fuzzy sweaters.
The dream must have been intense, because my heart was thrumming wildly beneath my breastbone and a light sheen of sweat lay across my forehead despite my lying on top of my comforter. I squeezed my eyes tighter, trying to clutch at edges of the departing scene: a locked door, and my voice echoing through an empty house… but it was fruitless, like grasping at smoke.
Well, I hope it was a good one. My mind began to focus, the gauzy curtains of sleep gently parting. Maybe it was about…
Last night.
My lips curved into a small smile, my stomach rolling slightly at the rush of memories. I drew in a deep, slow breath… and was immediately startled by the smell of black coffee and lavender concentrated directly above my nose.
My eyelashes parted with a wet rip, and I found a pair of glittering brown irises hovering six inches above my face.
"Oh good," Alice deadpanned. She was practically lying on top of me, and her hot breath was tickling my nose. "You're awake."
I watched groggily as she leaned back, crossed her legs, and looked at me expectantly; a tiny sitting Buddha in middle of my white and pink comforter, quite obviously settling down for a lengthy stay. I wondered how long she'd been lying in wait. Alice had the determination of a mule.
She thrust a steaming mug under my nose, and I inhaled black tea and spices. Humming in gratitude, I curled my fingers around the warm porcelain and scooted up until I was leaning against my headboard. My thoughts were heavy, my mind nebulous from scant sleep and the hastily-departed dream, but I still felt… good. So good. Warm and blissfully unencumbered.
I peeked out from above the rim. Alice was watching me through narrowed eyes, lips a hard line, hands resting on top of her knees. I hid a smile as I took a small sip and swirled the hot liquid in my mouth. Paused. Swept my frizzy bangs back behind my ear. Stayed silent. Took another sip. Waited. Smacked my lips.
"Dammit, Bella!" Alice yelped, laughing and lunging at me. I had to quickly lift the mug high above my head to avoid her fluttering hands as they clutched at my shoulders and knotted hair. "You have to tell me what happened last night!" Alice beamed as sat back on her heels. "Tell me everything, or I might explode. Literally. Do you want me to explode, Bella? Do you?"
I rolled my eyes. "Alice, it's been like," I looked at the clock, "twelve hours since I texted you. You had to be passed out during some of that…"
She quirked an eyebrow at me, but remained silent, watching me for signs of discomfort. But I gave her none. I was enjoying teasing her. I felt high and playful as I took another sip of my tea.
Who am I, and where did Isabella Swan go? I refused to seek too deeply for an answer. Instead, I honed in on the glass of red juice and celery sitting on my night table.
"Rough night?" I asked sweetly.
Alice groaned, and waved her hand dismissively. "No. Fine. Jasper made it. Focus. Tell me everything!"
I choked. "What did you say?" I said, slowly. "Did you say Jasper?" I gasped. "Did Jasper spend the night here?"
This caught Alice off-guard. Her mouth formed silent 'o' before sputtering, "No! I mean, yes, he did…" She shook her head at my flabbergasted expression. "He brought me home last night and offered to stay with me, because you weren't here… He slept on the couch," she added quickly, then immediately looked to regret her supplemental information. She slapped my mattress with her palm. "Stop it, dammit! What happened to you last night?"
My eyes followed my finger as it traced the smooth lip of the mug. "I, ah…" I swallowed. The words were sticky, clinging to the inside of my throat. "I was with Edward."
Alice raised both palms. "Hallelujah!" she cried happily. "Details, dear. Aaaand… go."
I took a deep breath and recounted last night's events. Jessica and her stupid lies and my automatic knee-jerk reaction to run, (this earned me an eyebrow-raise), and then Edward catching me outside the bar, (this earned a fist-pump). About the awkward ride when I fucking sang, (Alice's mouth dropped open as I cringed, but she wouldn't let me obsess, wildly waving her hands to move along), and the surprise of the beautiful baseball field.
She gasped and put a little hand to her mouth. "How did he know?" she whispered. I shrugged, my stomach fluttering. Distantly, it occurred to me how pathetic that was – fluttering, for fucksake. But again, I tried to focus. To stay firm, to hold at bay the harsh doubts that were beginning to push at my resolve.
I continued with flushed cheeks and hushed tones, much to Alice's delight and my embarrassment. Impulsively, I included details like his jacket around my shoulders, his hands on my waist, my heart in my throat. However, when I quietly recounted our interaction on the field – the increasingly intimate conversations, the astoundingly easy laughter he found within me – Alice grew thoughtful, eyes widening, arms going slack. I trailed off as she leaned forward, searching my eyes.
"Did you really tell him all of that, Bella?" Her words were spoken softly, and I couldn't read her tone. I nodded hesitantly. "And? How was that?"
My head fell back against my headboard. "Scary. Bizarre. Different." I met her curious stare, and smiled. A real smile. "Incredible, Ali."
She suddenly placed her palms flat against her face, fingers splayed out like pale starfish. Her movement shocked me into finally being fully awake. "Alice?"
She uncovered her face, and my body went rigid when I saw that her cheeks were wet, tears like diamonds clinging to her eyelashes. The dormant knot that had been sitting in my stomach since last night suddenly unraveled within my chest. Guilt and shame rushed though me, making my teeth click together and my bladder clench painfully.
She was disappointed in me. As she should be, honestly. I should be disappointed in myself. Fuck. My behavior last night had been inexcusable. Just because something feels good doesn't mean it should be acted on… Stupid. Even Alice saw it.
What was I thinking? What was I doing?
"Hey!" I whispered urgently. I touched her leg, my stomach sour with regret. "What's wrong?" I asked hesitantly, not truly wanting to know. None of it was real. These stupid fucking feelings truly were a weakness, cruel illusions making me see things that weren't there, that couldn't be there.
But Alice threw me again when she smiled at me, wetness tracing the curves of her cheeks. "I'm just… happy, Bells. Excited for you." She swiped at her face, laughing now. "I'm fucking ridiculous." She squinted at my wide eyes, my suddenly labored breathing. "Are you okay?"
I nodded, but my confidence was splintered like rotten wood.
"So that's all that happened?" she pressed tenderly, and I cleared my steadily tightening throat.
"Not entirely," I admitted, suddenly hesitant. I wanted to change the subject, talk about Jasper, about the weather… anything else, really.
"There's more?" Alice clasped her hands in front of her face and threw her head back. "Please tell me it involves something sweaty and pants-less. Please…"
"No!" I said quickly. I blushed, and I knew my hot skin didn't go unnoticed. She smirked as I paused, suddenly unsure what to say. How to put into words what I felt with his chest pressing into mine, his breath sweet and humid across my cheeks, his eyes…
Alice snapped her fingers. "Bella! Where did you just go?"
She listened patiently while I reluctantly told her the rest of the night: our narrow escape, Edward's heat and the hard tree on my back, the horrible ride home and my unexpected confession on the front steps. Finally, I told her of his desire to take me out on an actual date. Alice reacted with her usual gusto, clapping her hands and squealing, genuinely happy for me.
But it had already begun. My mind was beginning to churn, suspicion and self-loathing flaring bright in the pauses. I began to see small portions of last night - my too-loud laugh, lying in damp grass like a child - and I was disgusted with myself. Against my will, the urge to run began to slowly creep into my limbs, the need to move and replace this awareness with hollow footfalls on wet pavement.
Three abrupt realizations that hit me all at once, the truths striking me like sharp slaps:
First, there was no denying it: Edward was interested in me on a non-professional level.
Second, there was part of me — and I wasn't prepared to admit how potent of a part — that yearned for him, his warmth, his peace.
And third, I was apparently unable to bullshit him and the reality was that he would soon see how damaged and useless I truly was… and I would inevitably ruin it all.
"So what did you say?"
My eyes had wandered to stare at the white-grey morning outside. "He told me to tell him when I'm ready," I answered, my voice monotone. "He said he would wait for me."
Alice's eyes, the color of caramel, scrutinized my twitching face, and I knew she was aware of the war now raging within me. She always knew. "I want to hug him already," she said gently, and I could hear the careful control of the excitement behind her words. "Do you think you might talk to him on Monday?"
Despite her even tone, kindly meant to keep me calm, I could feel hot lines of anxiety creeping into my lungs, taking root, heavy blooms bursting black and hot.
"Jesus, Alice." My mind rifled through fast excuses and struggled for calm… ironically, to find the peace I had felt with Edward last night. "Isn't there a rule or something?" I asked, half-hopefully. "Aren't I supposed to wait four days?" My hand reached up to find my tangled bangs, but Alice once again surprised me by reaching out and catching my hand before it could find purchase.
"Bella." Alice brought my hand down to rest on the bed, and covered it with her other palm. "Stop. Relax. Open your eyes."
We stared at each other: my eyes wide and wild, hers loving and kind. Her warm fingers drew looping letters in the back of my hand, writing secrets. I let loose an unsteady breath and became aware that my shoulders were pulled high and tight, and as I consciously worked to release the tension, I knew that this struggle was far from over.
Our moment was interrupted by a voice calling from downstairs.
"Aaaaaalice! Tell Bella to get her ass down here so I can have my pancakes!"
Now it was Ali's turn to blush. She stood up and fussed with her hair, rolling her eyes. "I promised Jasper I would make breakfast this morning, in appreciation for his staying here to protect me." She threw my still-folded pajama pants at me. "I'm happy for you, Bells," she said softly. She pointed at the pants. "Get dressed, come eat."
As she left, I noticed for the first time that Alice wasn't wearing her usual sleep uniform of sweats and ratty gym t-shirt. Huh. My observations were delayed: She had on red silk pajamas, clingy and beribboned and beautiful against her pale skin, a set that I had admired more than once in her dresser.
And wait… had she been wearing makeup? On a Saturday morning?
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Jasper was a pointillist painting: up close, a mess of tiny details, a million points of color and light. However, when you stood back and took in the whole scene, the picture suddenly came together, the beauty striking. There was perfection in the chaos.
He had obviously borrowed some items from Alice for his overnight stay. I noticed that he looked nice in lavender, the sleeves of the robe barely reaching below his elbows, the bottom hem not quite clearing his hips. He was shirtless under the soft purple satin, sandy-colored hair peeking out from his surprisingly muscular chest. Hot pink socks were stretched so tight I could see flesh-tone through the glitter, and the heels were situated half-way down his long feet which were crossed on top of our kitchen table. He was reading the newspaper, his eyes skipping over the tiny print of the stock report as he chewed on the stem of a dapper wooden pipe, unlit and empty. Oh, and of course, he was wearing a red cowboy hat. Why wouldn't he be?
"Alice, is all of this yours?" I flicked the unfamiliar scarlet brim as I sat down next to him. He had been engrossed in the paper and hadn't heard my arrival, and he smiled brightly when he saw me.
"Hells, Bells! Long night, I hope?" He folded the paper down and grasped the bulb of the pipe. "The robe and socks are Alice's. The sweats are yours – thanks, by the way – but the hat and the pipe are all mine." He waggled his eyebrows at me, and I caught Alice's amused smile as she set another cup of tea down in front of me, red pajamas swishing prettily around her legs.
"Dare I ask… why do you keep a pipe and cowboy hat in your car?"
Jasper stared at me as if I had asked him something painfully obvious. "For when I sleep over places, of course." He gave me an overly-dramatic wink. "You never know who you are going to need to impress the next morning."
Crash.
"Oh, shit," Alice murmured. I leapt up, towel in hand, and couched next to her as we frantically tried to mop up the milk that was now all over the floor. "Stupid…" I looked sideways at Ali, saw her tight lips, her furrowed eyebrows… but it wasn't from the spilled milk. She shook her head at me, an infinitesimal movement, and I stayed quiet.
Jasper was up and helping in a flash, his pipe clattering to the floor. There was a tension now, unspoken sentiments sharp on the group around us with the shattered glass.
"I meant impress you… both. Both of you." He was on his knees next to Alice, glancing sideways at her hard face, her eyes boring a hole in the floor. "And, ah, for other reasons, too…" he continued, his voice thinned with forced nonchalance. "What if I woke up in a back alley, and I needed to warm my head? I would be very glad to have this hat. Or if I randomly found myself with an ambassador to a foreign country? The pipe might make me look more credible, and I might be able to help avert a nuclear crisis…" His joking was gentle, but insistent, obviously trying hard to lighten the suddenly tense mood.
I stood up and walked to the sink, pretending to be very busy wringing every last drop of liquid from the towel. But I couldn't avoid seeing Jasper slowly reach out and place his hand on top of Alice's, stilling her furious movements. Her eyes remained fixed on the wet floor.
"I didn't mean it like it came out, Alice," he said softly. Jasper's long fingers curled around her tiny ones. "There's no one else in this world I give a shit about impressing."
I held my breath and shut my eyes, the silence itself a harsh dissonance. I heard Alice's shallow pants pushing through gritted teeth.
She suddenly stood up, her rapid movement startling both of us. The knees of her pretty silk pajamas were darkened, and I could see the tension in the corner of her mouth, lips pursed. Clearing her throat, she said, "Do you have gym clothes in that well-stocked car of yours, Jasper?"
Jasper stood up slowly, nodding warily. "Yes…"
Alice nodded. "Good." She turned and tossed a plate on the table from a bit too far so it landed with a loud crack: whole wheat pancakes, tofu facon, organic maple syrup.
"Hurry and eat." She moved past me toward the stairs, and I heard her murmur under her breath, "I need to sweat."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Defeated, I leaned against the counter in the kitchen, pressing the heels of my hands into my wet forehead. My entire back was soaked with cold sweat, and my abs were throbbing from the brutality that had just been inflicted upon them. Alice had spent the last three hours destroying Jasper and me; we had dipped, squatted, pressed, lunged, pushed, lifted and crunched until we could hardly stand. Alice was obviously trying to destroy something, beat something into submission. She had finally let us go only when I lay down on the gym floor and threatened to hang myself with my bra if she didn't release us; that the Geneva Convention called for prisoners to be treated better.
I was secretly glad for the punishment. She'd given me my distraction, my drug to temporarily quiet my softly whispering demons. I knew I couldn't avoid them forever, but the gym had granted me a welcome temporary reprieve.
With a shaky hand, I took another long drink of water. I heard the shower turn on in the downstairs bathroom, and I shook my head. Poor Jasper must be half-dead, the way Alice had ridden him all morning, urging him to go harder, give her more, push push push… but to his credit, he had done everything she asked, never once complaining and taking his penalty for unspoken indiscretions. It was both cute and ridiculous.
But I was hardly one to judge how others handled their repressed emotions.
I poked my head into Alice's bedroom to find her leaning against the wall, staring at the still-falling rain. Her back was to me, but I could make out the ghost of her reflection in the window.
My own simmering emotions were momentarily forgotten. My bullshit was one thing, but Alice needed me for a moment, even if she didn't want to admit it.
Quietly walking up behind her, I wrapped my arms around her narrow shoulders. We looked together into the grey.
"You're sweaty."
"It's your fault. Are you okay?"
"Of course." Alice huffed and rubbed her eyes. I had the bang-tugging and relentless blush, Alice had the eye rub. I knew her tells, too. "Why wouldn't I be?"
I shrugged. "You've just seemed a little weird since this morning."
"I drank too much last night. I'm not eighteen anymore, ya know?"
She wasn't going to give anything up easily. Softly, I asked, "It wouldn't have anything to do with what Jasper said in the kitchen, would it?"
Alice barked a laugh, harsh and loud. "Jasper? What are you talking about?" She opened her mouth as if to continue, but then her teeth came together with a snap. "Jasper is a grown man," she said evenly. "He can wake up anywhere he pleases," she stared out at the rain, "with whomever he pleases."
My head tilted back so I could rest my chin on top of her head, and sighed. "He didn't mean it like that, Ali."
She shook her head. "Regardless, it's none of my business. Whatever." Her voice was steel wool, forced bravado woven thick.
I leaned forward, her hair tickling my cheek. "Listen," I said quietly. "Just like he said, there is only one person he wanted to amuse with that stupid hat and pipe… and certainly it wasn't me." As I kissed the side of her head and took a step back, her words from this morning came back to me, and I repeated them to her. "Stop. Relax. Open your eyes."
I left her alone with her thoughts and the rain pouring from the silver afternoon; I wondered if the steel-grey sky reminded her of anything in particular.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Truth be told, he rest of my Saturday had not gone well.
My self-doubt had grown louder throughout Saturday evening as moments from the previous night came in embarrassing flashes, causing my cheeks to flare and my forehead to randomly dampen. Saturday night was unending, legs scissoring under slick sheets trying to find comfort in the dark. The ceaseless rain matched my mood: blustery, black, unforgiving.
The sight of my best friend's wet cheeks, the few seconds when I had thought Alice was disappointed in me… it had slashed open a wound in my vulnerable flesh, slicing through the thin armor I had built up. I was infected with doubt; it festered beneath my ribs. I exhaled hot guilt.
I had been so hopeful, I'd even surprised myself. I should have known better.
How could things have regressed so much in less than twenty four hours?
I was a failure. A failure for yet again reinforcing my defects, and making a fool of myself over and over again. The memory of singing with him… oh my god, it was enough to make my stomach threaten to expel the whole-wheat pasta Alice had forced down my throat for dinner.
The one mystery that lingered – the one piece of the situation that I would not reconcile in my screaming brain – was Edward's desire to see me again. I remembered the scene vividly and could see his face, sincere and smiling in the street next to his car, black shirt straining against his broad chest. My fingers twisted into my pillow case as they had the soft cotton. By about three o'clock in the morning, I had successfully worked myself up into such a state that I couldn't remember what could have possibly made him want to see me again.
I considered touching myself, allowing my fingers to seek dark folds and wetness, to let myself feel good for a moment… but I couldn't even do that. The act felt bitter; it wasn't my touch I craved.
Sleep eventually came, reluctantly.
Sunday morning had greeted me with the familiar state of self-loathing that I wore like a second skin. The most painful reality was there then, no longer lurking, finally pulled to the forefront.
You can't see him again, Isabella whispered, the morning light monochromatic and the sentiment equally bleak. You can't because he will see that your insides are black and jagged, and that love doesn't stick to you. That you are never anyone's first choice. Ever.
Isabella rejoiced as I slowly collapsed.
I wandered aimlessly through the house all Sunday, drifting from couch to kitchen table to disheveled bed, only to have my feet repeating the circuit over and over again. I couldn't even find it in me to go to the office for distraction: his presence was there, yet another reminder of my impending loss. I couldn't run, either: I was sore from yesterday, and honestly, I didn't feel like I deserved the release. I needed to feel my defeat. My malfunction. So I floated about the house, trying to find refuge in bad television and the sound of falling rain.
Alice seemed to share my restlessness. Surprisingly, she left me alone all day to wallow, instead choosing to completely re-organize both of our closets. She had worked with fervor, mumbling as she dragged out every article of clothing I owned, laid it on the bed, and decided its fate. Sorting and matching, ironing and tossing and even ripping seams when the article was deemed particularly offensive.
I watched her from under my pillow, not offering to help, just letting her do what she needed to do. Alice rarely grew agitated, but when she did it was best to let her ride it out, jump in if I felt I was needed.
The weekend grew old, and finally Alice's maelstrom ended with her laying out my clothes for Monday; ankle boots with nude stockings, rust-colored pencil skirt with ruffled black shirt. She was dressing me like a sultry librarian, and I couldn't even find the passion to protest. She had spoken as she picked; her banter obviously sought normalcy. I mostly listened, grunting in the right places.
Alice paused at the foot of my bed, appraising my prone figure.
"So?" She tugged on my comforter, uncovering the lower-half of my face. I didn't bother grabbing for it. "Tell me, Bella Swan: what are you going to do tomorrow?"
The million dollar question. The one I had been avoiding all weekend. What the fuck was I going to do?
But I knew. I knew what I had to do.
"I'm going to tell him no."
As the words came out, they tasted bitter, like sucking on the peel of an orange. Releasing them into the world made them real. Made them a plan.
I had to let Edward go.
But for the first time all day, Alice smiled. She reached out with warm fingers, squeezed my foot through the blanket.
"No. You won't." She silenced my protest with a smirk. When she left my room, her shoulders set square and sure.
His stunning face was absent from my night, just as it would soon be from my days.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Monday.
Alice had snuffed every attempt I made to make clear why I could not go out with Edward, why I had to tell him no. It was out of the question. Absurd. Doomed. But she waved her hand as she poured her coffee, her tiny body pinballing around the kitchen with a renewed enthusiasm. She was certainly in a good mood; Alice had apparently found the peace during the night that still eluded me.
"Nope. I don't wanna hear it," she said firmly. I leaned against the counter and sipped my tea grumpily, trying to quell the need to explain it to her, to force her to see why this had to be.
But Alice just smiled, smacked my ass and darted out the door for an early-morning client.
"Your tits look amazing in that shirt, by the way!" she called out playfully over her shoulder.
I stood in stunned silence, preparing.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
My reflection stared at me as the elevator ascended, exterior immaculate but brown eyes dull. Hard. Words scrolled through my head once again, a constant loop that I had repeated during my drive:
Edward, can I talk to you? About the other night...
Simple, really.
I kept my thoughts staccato. Shallow, superficial. It has to happen this way. The sooner the better. Just rip the band-aid off.
I knew I had to end this... thing, before it truly started.
Focus. Like reading an instruction manual, or a map. Distance. Necessary. I had to banish any thoughts of hope or remembered warmth. I couldn't allow my heart to have a say in this.
It has to happen this way. The sooner, the better, I repeated.
The elevator doors slid open, and I cut a sharp path to my desk. I didn't bother looking around; it was too early for anyone to be there, and I needed to sit before my legs gave out. I felt smothered: I was on the bottom of the Pacific Ocean that lived outside of the panoramic window, alone and cold, the heavy water crushing me. I hated myself, my weakness, and I mourned my lost ability to disassociate and not give a shit about anything.
I sat down stiffly, my limbs moving on autopilot. I mechanically placed my purse under the desk and grabbed a bottle of water. My hands were heavy as I reached across my desk to flip on my automatic boiler… and I stopped.
My head snapped sideways, my miserable fog instantly clearing.
The boiler was already filled and bubbling. Two tea bags were laid out on the desk: Earl Grey. But not the brand that I had in my desk. Another kind, brought from somewhere else.
A sticky note was stuck next to the bags, the handwriting on it scrolling and neat:
Good morning, Ms. Swan.
555-345-0989
Just in case.
My breath was forgotten.
I picked up the paper with shaking fingers, staring at the name, the digits, the sentiment. A sound died in my throat as a wave of emotion welled up inside, overtook me, spilled onto my skin and stained it red. The faith it expressed, and the sweet, ignorant belief that I was… ordinary. That I would be able to reciprocate, to respond, and not be such a fucking loser. That I was normal. He just… he didn't know. Yet.
The wastebasket sat empty, next to my right leg. It was a simple movement, really, to slowly lower my arm below the desk, to hover above the bin. The difficultly would be in unclenching my fingers, hearing the yellow square flutter to its rest. I would cover it in refuse, in things discarded. I would forget it existed.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Tomorrow. I'll do it tomorrow.
I lay completely motionless, flat on my back, wrapped in warm covers and excuses.
There had never been a good time to speak with him today.
I had stared at the back of his neck at least a dozen times, the gently sloping lines disappearing down into a baby blue shirt and up under a mess of bronze waves. He had acknowledged me with a warm smile, the crooked one that made me hurt more than I already did, but he had never actually approached my desk. My fingers had curled around my cup long after the tea was gone, until the last trace of warmth had been drawn from it.
I mean, I couldn't have just walked up to him. Everyone would have seen that…
He had occasionally sat alone throughout the day. Multiple times, actually. But the time had just never been right.
I turned over on my side, drew my knees to my chest. My first movement in hours.
Nothing has changed. It just… didn't happen today.
But I heard Alice's voice then, small and insistent.
If that were true, Bella…
My fingers tightened around the object they held, the sound of crinkling paper louder than rustling sheets.
…then why did you keep the note?
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Tuesday.
"I think we are absolutely on track for a January opening date."
I mouthed thank you to Angela as I handed back the signed paperwork with one hand, and shut the folder labeled, Two Bros Fro-Yo with the other. She smiled at me and quickly scurried off as I turned back to my computer, hands flying over the keys.
"Is there anything else I can do for you today?"
"Absolutely. Come to that ballgame with me."
My fingers paused. As miserable as this day had been, Sam's teasing tone made my lips twitch. "Anything business-related, Mr. Uley?"
"Ouch. Always the professional, huh?"
"I thought this was a business meeting, Sam." He laughed as I shook my head, The Uley brothers and I had become quite comfortable with each other through our frequent phone meetings, and Sam's good-natured flirting had returned, casual but sincere. I felt better equipped to handle it now. He was harmless, really.
"Then no, I think we're all set for now, Bella. But this issue might come up again from time to time… in the course of business and all." I could hear his smile.
I made a note in his folder and sighed, looking at the city: glittering grey buildings, the painted ocean, a smear of green and turquoise across the bottom of a canvas, a rare patch of sapphire blue sky barely visible from behind the omnipresent clouds. Edward was right: I never looked out this window.
Edward.
Every muscle in my body tightened, and I let loose a breath. Refocused. Not now.
After I bade Sam goodbye, I wasted no time trying for what felt like the millionth time to finish an email to Carlisle regarding what would be the first of our bi-weekly meetings. Distraction from what I was truly nervous about was absolutely no problem today, as the entire office was buzzing with activity, the tinkling of phones and the constant shuffling of paper. It was like the city of Seattle had conspired to slam us all at the same time. The tension was palpable; a current ran through the office, low and throbbing. Even Mike hadn't found a spare moment to come harass me.
Carlisle,
We are definitely set for this Friday at 9am. I will confirm with Mr. Masen. Please let me know if there is anything in particular you would like us to address. We look forward to seeing you again. Please give my regards to Esme.
Sincerely,
Bella Swan
I hit send and sat back in my seat, intending on moving along to the next item on my agenda. However, my mind reflexively flashed upon the face that I had been denying myself all day, the one with the rough jaw and bronze eyelashes. He had been missing today; I had heard in passing that he and Emmett had another on-site emergency.
This morning, I had been resolute: I needed to talk to him today and put an end to the waiting. But by the time I had set foot in the elevator this morning, I was barely composed. I paced like a caged animal, and with clawed fingers I almost hit the emergency button between floors fourteen and fifteen.
I hadn't. I needed to be a big girl, and face reality head-on.
But when I had squared my shoulders and walked into the lobby, my traitorous eyes had darted around, searching greedily against my will. I was relieved and bitterly disappointed to find him absent. I waved to Angela with a steady hand, sat at my desk, and lost myself to my massive workload. Between the emails and the incoming phone calls and various other tasks, I barely had time to breathe, let alone sit and ruminate on my predicament.
I was in full Ms. Swan mode, all business and no pleasure. I would deal with him later in the professional, efficient manner that I had worked so hard to hone. Clearly, I hadn't been doing enough of that lately.
But as the day went on, it was clear that my body didn't understand my brain's determination. I kept repeating the same unwanted actions, over and over again: Every time the elevator door would chime, I would stop whatever I was doing and my head would involuntarily whip around to see who was emerging from the mirrored doors. When it wasn't him, I would flush and fluster, the automatic rebuke would come quick: Stop it, Bella. Your behavior is ridiculous. You're being childish. Stupid. A failure.
Then the thoughts were pushed aside, my attention refocused. Concentrate on the next task, Ms. Swan. Shuffle, type, answer, plot… anything to stop my mind from wandering to the place when work ended and the hurt began.
Because it would hurt, saying goodbye to Edward.
But every fucking time I heard that metallic ping, my head would swivel and seek out his face, his smile, his hands, only to feel the shame of my lack of control all over again.
In vain, I attempted to convince myself that Edward's absence was good. It's lucky that he's not here, that I can't see him. I can stay strong, work out exactly what I am going to say… I haven't even had a moment to think yet today…
Ping.
My eyes flew to the lobby. I couldn't have stopped myself if had tried.
It was Mike who strode into the bullpen this time, blonde hair stiff, grey suit slightly too big for his skinny frame. He met my eyes briefly, and I immediately looked away, rubbing my sore neck. Can one get whiplash for looking too hard?
Ugh.
My head threatened to drop down onto my desk with a thud.
Ping.
My neck was actually beginning to hurt from the swiveling. And why are there so many goddamn people walking into this office today?
My eyes widened slightly. In walked Emmett, the grinning, curly-headed colossus. He stepped off the elevator and made a beeline for my desk.
"Hello… still Bella, is it?" He smiled and waggled his eyebrows at me.
I smiled weakly. "Still Bella."
He tilted his head at me, eyes scrutinizing. "Forgive me, Bella, but you look a little pale. Are you okay?"
You don't know the half of it. I was exhausted, anxious, ready to jump out of my skin, but I gave him another smile. "I'm okay, Mr. Mc… Emmett. It's just been a long day."
"Busy here, too? Edward and I have been running our asses off all around Seattle today, putting out fires." He chuckled, and I really enjoyed his laugh: deep and sweet, like a child. A huge, goofy, brilliant child. His eyes twinkled down at me.
"That sounds intense." I averted my eyes and stared needlessly at my notepad. "Is, ah, Mr. Masen still out in the field?" My breath left my lungs with a whoosh as I groaned silently. I just did the worst job ever of sounding uninterested.
I peeked up and saw that the corners of Emmett's mouth had turned up slightly, and I regretted my impulsive question. "He should be right behind me," he said, mercifully keeping the teasing out of his voice.
Shit. Fix it. I cleared my throat. "We have a meeting with the Cullens that we need to discuss." A perfectly logical and completely unnecessary explanation. My cheeks burned, but Emmett just smiled. He leaned his hulking frame down to me.
"Are you sure you're okay, Bella?"
His concern was just so damn sweet. I felt the knife twist in my stomach as I looked up into his warm eyes. Would he still feel this friendly toward me after I talk with Edward? I felt my own smile waver slightly. Probably not. I tasted misery and I was once again grateful to Emmett for always being kind, affable… for standing here at my desk in a moment when I needed a friendly face.
"I'll be okay, Emmett." I relished the syllables on my tongue, knowing that it was probably the last time that I would say his name out loud to him. Suddenly, I needed to confess. To someone. "I'm just… a bit overwhelmed at the moment." The words were foreign and oddly cathartic; saying them out loud, releasing them from the deep, dark places I kept myself hidden made this whole day – the work, the worry, the impending talk with Edward – made the prospect of the rest of the afternoon seem a little bit more manageable. Emmett nodded sympathetically.
"Bella."
Charlie Swan stepped out from behind Emmett, and my stomach dropped into my lap like lead. He had been completely blocked by Emmett's broad torso, and I couldn't guess how long he'd been standing there.
"If you will excuse us, Mr. McCarthy," Charlie said politely. Emmett nodded, mumbling, "of course," as he backed away, shooting me an apologetic watched him retreat before flicking his gaze to me as I sat stone-still in my chair. "May I see you in my office, please?" He didn't wait for a response; he turned and briskly walked away. Apparently, it wasn't an actual request.
I tried to lick my lips, but my tongue was too dry. I stood, spine straight, and followed my father to his office. Jessica lifted her head and took in Charlie, then me trailing behind him; when she looked down again, her face was twisted in an ugly red smile. I had an urge to rip it off her orange face.
Calm, I commanded silently. I was already emotionally charged from this Edward situation, and I needed to be in control with Charlie. It was how I got through the day when it came to my father. Detached.
As I stepped into his office, nostalgia rushed over my skin, wrapped me in a paradoxical embrace of warm familiarity and harsh resentment. This room had not changed much in the twenty five years that it had belonged to Charles Swan. The cherry wood furniture, the green mountainscapes on the walls... they were all in the exact same places that they existed in my memories. It was jarring.
"Bella, please sit down," he said, waving one hand at the stiff chairs in front of his desk. He did not look at me as I sat slowly, unyielding as the hard wood underneath me.
Charlie cleared his throat as he raised his head. "Bella, I'll get right to the point." He laced his fingers together and placed them on the desktop in front of him. "I have heard some very disappointing things about you lately."
Momentarily, all that could be heard through the stunned silence was the tick of the clock on the wall. Charlie and I looked at each other, his brown eyes expectantly blinking open and shut.
Finally, I spoke. "Please clarify."
Charlie never wavered, his eyes locked with mine. "You are not as sharp as you normally are, Bella. Your focus is off. You are easily distracted. Your intra-office relationships are becoming... lax, as I just witnessed first-hand."
To say I was dumbfounded would be an understatement. My chest was filled with white static, buzzing and rolling, and blood roared in my ears and through my face. "Mr. Swan…" Thoughts tumbled through my head wildly, and I struggled to shape them into words. "Perhaps if I knew where this other information was coming from, I could more effectively put your worries at ease." My voice was smooth and slow, but my hands were gently shaking in my lap.
He shook his head. "It's not important who else has made these observations. What is important is the reputation and the productivity of this company." His tone never changed as I sat immobile, beginning to truly absorb his words. Directly questioning my work ethic? My productivity? The only tell to the gathering storm beneath my ribs was my cheeks: fiery red, growing hotter and hotter.
"I disagree that it doesn't matter. I would like the opportunity to speak with this person, so I at least understand exactly what I am refuting." I could feel my temper begin to bubble. I clenched my teeth. "Also, I would have appreciated the benefit of the doubt before you condemned me, Mr. Swan."
Charlie continued, as if I had not spoken, "Bella, this is a business. I need to be able to completely depend on my consultants to take care of our clients thoroughly and accurately, without distraction. If you are not up to this task, I would suggest that you step down and make way for someone who is."
His even words hit me like a punch. The air in the room grew thin, cold. "Mr. Swan," I said, my stomach twisting, my legs numb, "I have never done anything but work for you. Ever. In my entire life." Suddenly the words were coming from somewhere deep inside of me, and I saw a shift in Charlie's eyes; subtle, but I saw it. I wanted to spit my words out, but instead they simply slid past my tongue."And for you to call me in here and ambush me, with no opportunity to defend myself... quite frankly, sir, it's unprofessional."
That was the dirtiest word that Charlie Swan knew. I had never once said a negative thing about Charlie as a businessman or employer, in public or in private. But something was fractured inside of me then, a fissure that wept stifled thoughts, sentiments that a month ago I would have swallowed like bitter medicine meant to harm, not to heal.
Charlie sat up straighter, and for the first time his face betrayed him; I saw his cheeks redden slightly, his eyebrows knit together. It was sickeningly satisfying.
"Unprofessional? That's out of line, Bella." His voice was harder now, and I could almost feel the temperature rise in the space between us. "I brought you in here is discus your failing conduct, of which you are giving me a perfect example."
I shook my head. I was livid now, seeing stars and cold brown. My mind rewound to the past few days, and further, and it occurred to me that I hadn't spoken to Edward at all yesterday or the previous week, or really anyone, for that matter. I had thrown myself into managing the Cullen account, into the Uley project and the audit for Dr. Jenks… the truth was, I'd done nothing but work, for the past weeks, months, years. I was top goddamn earner, but my conduct was failing? Because I was starting to act like a human being in the office? My life was work, work for him and his fucking company... and I was tired of taking it.
"No. There has been no discussion here, Mr. Swan. Only baseless accusations. And that is what's out of line." My fists were curled into the hard balls, nails cutting into tender flesh as I clutched what little remained of my composure. "You of all people should know my work ethic. I am nothing but a model consultant – quite literally."
The lines around Charlie's mouth tightened, and I saw exactly when it happened: the shut off. The disengagement. An echo of my entire young life. "You're obviously not going to be rational," he said coolly. I bit my lip, the physical pain a welcome distraction from the ache in my chest. "Perhaps we should revisit this at some other time, when you are able to discuss this issue calmly."
Bit by bit, my knees unlocked and I stood. My shoulders were heavy, sagging, threatening to pull me down to the grey carpet beneath me and lie at his feet like I used to as a child, when I would hide under Charlie's desk and stare up at him as he worked, staying so still he would become lost in thought and forget I was there.
I looked at my father now, at his plastic mask, his mouth a hard line. "I will leave, then," I said curtly. "Two things you taught me, Mr. Swan: how to work, and how to leave. You and Renee both."
The silence was crushing. Charlie's mouth opened and shut, words finally absent. It was a low blow, I was aware. Possibly the lowest. But he was hitting me with closed fists, and so I reflexively struck back.
The soft click of the door was swallowed by the room.
My eyes stung and I immediately straightened up, jaw fixed, focusing only on walking to my chair. It was unacceptable to let this affect me. No one could. Not Charlie Swan, not Renee whatever the fuck her name is now. Never again.
I didn't realize I had reached my desk until my knees bumped the chair.
My senses were overloaded, sizzling. I could hear every voice in the whole damn room, every individual drop of rain on the panoramic window, every itchy pin holding my hair captive. I craved solitude, true stillness, not marred by worry or doubt or self-torture.
My phone blinked with an unheard message. It was almost time to go home, and I knew I didn't have to take it. I could just leave. Walk out, desk in disarray, save it all for tomorrow. Bella of a month ago wouldn't have even entertained the thought of leaving early. She would have relished the suffering, taken the searing pain in her hands and stuffed it down deep inside to plug the holes with mindless work or relentless running.
But I wasn't strong enough to do that anymore. I was broken, but it was worse than before because now I was aware that I was broken. Weak. Worthless too, apparently. I wanted to forget everything… Charles Swan and Swan Consulting, the Cullens and the Uleys, Dr. Jenks and his colicky son. And Edward.
Edward. Fuck everything, I still have to talk to Edward.
Defeated, I picked up the phone, hit the button, and was met with Carlisle's warm voice.
Bella! I must have just missed you. I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate on his voice, see his face; kind lines running from smiling eyes, graying blonde hair, mischievous grin obvious in his words. I was hoping to speak with you directly, but I'll just leave you a message… Esme and I decided to make a quick change to the meeting this Friday. We have asked our Board of Trustees to attend as well, as they are also interested in getting a progress update.
My hand stopped moving over the paper, the word, "Board" half-written, suddenly very alert.
Carlisle continued, I believe that you and I had previously spoken about you meeting with the Board, so they could get a feel for you? A conversation that you had indicated you would be interested in revisiting? He chuckled. I'm sure you remember. Anyway, please don't feel like you have to do anything special, just come with the presentation we have duscussed and that will be more than satisfactory. He paused, and his voice grew more serious, sincere. They're going to love you, Bella. Please call Rosalie or myself directly with any questions or concerns. See you Friday!
The message ended, but I made no move to erase it, or save it. I did nothing at all. My body was motionless while my brain was trudging along behind me, huffing and puffing, trying to catch up.
The Board of Trustees? My mind reeled back to the conversation with Carlisle three weeks ago, when he had agreed to work with Swan Consulting:
"And first we need for you to meet with our Board of Trustees, so they can size you up…"
"…please be assured that we are not formally offering you a position… yet."
Now?
I shook my head sharply, like I was trying to wipe clean an etch-a-sketch.
This was just a meeting. It had to be. It couldn't have anything to do with Carlisle's non job-offer.
I mean, I had so much else going on… There couldn't be anything else. Right?
I shouldn't read into it.
Carlisle didn't mean this as a… a job interview?
Oh. My. God.
I was caught in a riptide, tossed between churning waves, pulled under heavy water. Drowning. I could feel my heartbeat begin to race, beating thunderously against my ribcage. My hands trembled gently; I realized that I was clutching the pen so tightly that my fingers were bloodless.
The air was too thin in there. I stared down at my desk, eyes blank, trying weakly to process the last ten minutes. There are so many people around me, walking and talking, breathing and whispering. I need to move…
The last thought hit a dissonant note inside me, and my body reacted instantly. The muscles in my thighs tensed tight, ready to spring up. Cold panic started at the crown of my head and slid down my neck, my ears, down my back. I could hear my own panting breath, feel the buzz slowly traveling up my legs.
In horror, I realized that I was about to have an attack. Here. In the office.
I have to get out of there…
And then I felt it. A hum of energy, fluttering across the back of my neck. My eyes snapped up.
There he was.
He must have slipped in when I was in with Charlie. Edward was sitting at his desk, looking perfect a that simple white dress shirt. I drank in him greedily. Ears and eyes and jaw, chest and arms and thighs, smooth skin spattered with red stubble.
My body remembered him. His smell and lips, which were too far away to see… I realized that I had memorized them, my mind filling in blanks now. His hair was insane, hectic… but his eyes were what caught me. Intense and dark, even from across the room, like heavy storm clouds. He was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, staring directly at me. His body was angled toward mine, and electricity flowed from him to me, snaked across my skin, under my nails and skirt and heavy eyelids.
And just like that, I could breathe. Shallow breaths became longer, deeper. My heart steadied, slowed to a normal pace. The frantic energy that had consumed me a moment ago was dissipating, and I pictured it coming off of me like water evaporating in hot sun.
I stared directly into Edward's eyes, the expanse of the room not a factor, the rest of the office fading away into darkness. I couldn't hear the clicks and shuffles of those around me now, the spiky sounds that had previously been pricking my skin like needles. It was as if a warm breeze had come and swept away the turmoil. The exhaustion of the day, the doubts and the worry about seeing him, talking with him… it all melted as I returned his stare.
He was worried. I could see it in the subtle lines in his forehead, in his posture, in those expressive green eyes. I concentrated, needing to fix that expression on his face, and I felt the corners of my mouth turn up, squeaky, like they were moving on rusty hinges. My face twitched, it was almost as if I had forgotten how to move properly. I managed to grimace.
Edward sat up straight and his chest muscles rippled visibly under his shirt. I immediately felt my cheeks flush and despite everything, felt myself become instantly aroused. So much tension and energy had been pent up within me today, and all at once it concentrated, twisted low in my abdomen and flared bright white, hot. My excitement was sudden, consuming. My panties were abruptly soaked, damp thighs pressed together.
So badly, I wanted to touch him just once more, before this was over…
That's when Edward turned unexpectedly, spinning back toward his monitor and breaking our connection.
My body instantly felt the loss. Deflated, I sank back into my chair; I hadn't realized I'd been leaning forward. I dumbly watched his arms move over his keyboard, and I thought of his hands: big and wide, long fingers, wrapped around my waist, controlling me, spinning me around until my back was pushed hard against the tree…
Ding.
I looked down, and saw an email… from Edward.
My cursor hesitated over the envelope icon. I had no idea what he'd sent, but I was irrationally nervous. What if someone intercepted an email from him to me? Getting caught would be devastating, embarrassing, possibly career-ending.
But just then, two things occurred to me: First, if anyone was going to check emails, it would be either Emmett or Edward himself, and Edward wouldn't do anything so endanger his job… or mine, for that matter.
Second, right then I was so tired and flustered and overheated that I didn't give a fuck.
I clicked it open.
Did you keep that phone number?
I stared at the words for a moment before my fingers tapped out a hesitant answer.
Yes.
A moment later, I received a reply.
Call it now.
I read it again. Right now? I looked up at Edward, but he was still angled away me, his wide, firm back doing nothing to help my wet panty situation. Fuck. I exhaled quietly as I picked up the receiver, looked around the room from under my eyelashes, and dialed.
The silent tension of the room was interrupted by tinny music.
and laura's asleep in my bed
as I'm leaving she wakes up and says
"I dreamed you were carried away on the crest of a wave
baby don't go away, come here…"
The haunting melody flew, met my ears like an embrace. I kept the phone pressed to my head while the music broke the tense room. Heads turned toward him, annoyance clear on a few faces, but Edward made no move to silence the sound. He kept his head down, eyes fixed straight ahead, and let the song play for the full thirty or so seconds. I don't think I took a breath the entire time. Slowly, he finally reached out, touched the phone without moving his head; the line in my ear went dead.
The receiver slid from my ear, somehow found the cradle, my hand frozen.
I was typing before I could think about it, before I could remind myself that this was going to end soon, before I could rub self-loathing into my skin, rough like sandpaper, and turn this moment against me.
That sounds familiar.
A moment later:
Well, I heard it was all the rage to have a cool ringtone.
I glanced up at him; he was still looking away, but I could see the beginning of smile playing at his full lips.
Did you just want everyone to hear how hip you are?
The smile stretched across both cheeks.
That, and I wanted to absolutely confirm you kept the number.
I drew in a sharp breath, and unconsciously tugged on my bangs. I definitely kept it. I had memorized it. And I had a sudden moment of terrifying, blinding clarity:
What the fuck am I doing? Acting this way at work? The place that Charlie just chastised me for not focusing… Jesus, Bella...
But I just couldn't find it in me to fight too hard, to hate myself too much. Not with Edward around. He made me feel… strong. Stable. Dammit, he made me feel good.
Irrationally, I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to stupidly explain what he meant to me in the short time we'd had together, before I killed the part of me that was new, ripped at the roots, growing pale green and strong and new…
But how? Everyone in the room was aware of him now. I could just talk with him later. Maybe we'll end up going somewhere that we can talk, perhaps dinner…
Wait. I turned my eyes to the window, and they reflected wide and shocked back to me. I shook my head slightly, as if I could somehow undo reality, deny the undeniable.
Am I going to say yes?
I was. Goddamn Alice: she had known what I would decide before I did, and I was realizing it now, in my office, at my desk, surrounded by the strangers I saw every day.
Oh fuck me.
The truth was there: the unspoken pull that I felt toward him, undeniable, like gravity.
I wanted to be with him again. I realized suddenly that I couldn't, I wouldn't throw it all away, whatever it was that I found on that baseball field. What I had found here, right now. Maybe I could have a month ago. But not now.
I might be insane. I might be broken, disfigured from years of self-abuse and hard-learned lessons. I might even be un-lovable. But the ugly truth was, I simply wasn't strong enough to walk away from him. Even though I knew I should, even though it would definitely be better for him.
Every shred of determination that I had built up over the last three days crumbled to dust.
I couldn't let Edward go.
Ding.
Long day?
I peeked up and saw that he was looking at me, surreptitiously, from the corner of his eye. It was actually really cute and oddly intimate, this secret that we were sharing across the floor.
Very long day. You? I closed my eyes and strained to hear his voice in my head, slick like satin, his smooth, easy laugh from right next to me in the dark, the air tasting like damp grass and tension…
Ding.
Same. I spent most of it wishing that I was here.
A chill raced down my spine, made me shudder. With shaking fingers, I typed a question, bold and unhinged. I couldn't help it.
Why would you wish that?
Edward stood, stretching to his full height. I was watching him closely when he turned and made his way directly toward me.
My heart flew into my throat. My eyes widened and my hands froze above my keyboard. Excitement flared hot in my stomach, lower, and just the sight of him moving, sinewy and lithe, caused my nipples to tighten, ache for friction.
Edward stopped in front of my desk. He placed both hands flat against the wood; I thought about those palms pressed against rough bark, framing my head, only cold night air between his wet lips and mine…
He leaned into me, gently invading my space, and I breathed him in, the smell my body knew so impossibly well in such a short time. My favorite smells: cotton and night, leather, sweet, fresh rain. I closed my eyes as he filled my nostrils, my lungs, my consciousness.
I felt his breath against my ear, my bare neck. I gasped softly. I forgot where we were, who could be watching; I forgot everything but his voice.
"Goodnight, Ms. Swan."
He was velvet, a soft caress across my cheek, sweet cream and sugar trickling down my throat. He was sweet and tangible. I tasted his warmth.
Just like that, he was gone. I refused to open my eyes, to see the stares I now felt in his absence. I held on to the moment, to the calm, because I knew that very soon I would need to figure out what the hell to do next.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Bella, you're staring at that phone like you expect it to dance." Alice's teasing voice came from behind me.
I was sitting at the kitchen table, my iPhone laid out before me. I had my elbows on the table, hands to my temples. Just staring. Pathetically.
The phone had been in my pocket when Alice and I had gone on a run that evening, bouncing against my ass with every stride. It had sat next to me while she, Jasper and I had made dinner. Well, while they made dinner. More than once, Alice had chided me that if I absentmindedly cut the eggplant any smaller I would make baba ganoush; she finally took the knife from me with a quiet, "just let me do it." It had laid mockingly next to my plate during dinner, when I had barely spoken as I played with my ratatouille and caught the stupid knowing glances that my friends shared over my bowed head. And now, I had been staring at that goddamn phone for the past hour.
Just. Fucking. Staring.
Alice leaned over my shoulder and saw the name on the screen. With a giggle, she kissed the side of my head and skipped away, a huge bowl of popcorn in her hands. She and Jasper were about to watch a scary movie, and undoubtedly there was going to be an accidental/on-purpose snuggle or two happening in that living room, and I was mercifully left alone to agonize.
I was a strong, smart person. I was a capable businesswoman, and a fine public speaker.
And I was staring at a fucking phone.
Should I subject him to this level of craziness? Should I subject anyone to this?
I pressed my hands into my eyes, rubbing wearily. How can I close a million-dollar deal, but I can't make up my mind to make one fucking phone call?
My head hit the table with a dull thunk.
Suddenly, tiny hands flapped above my head. My head snapped up, but Alice had already set my phone back down and was halfway out the door.
"There," she called. "That might be easier…"
I looked down. She had opened a text message box.
I picked up the device. Fucking do this. Right or wrong, I was done waffling. I stopeed thinking, and typed.
What are you listening to?
Send.
Of course, I immediately hated the question. What if he didn't get it? What if he was busy, or sleeping, or out running… something I should really be doing. A part of me doubted he would even return the text. It was stupid, anyway, that question… fuck, why had I asked that, of all things? No hello, or this is Bella… oh shit, he didn't have my number! What if he didn't know it was me…
But almost immediately, my phone buzzed in my hand.
A recording of Franz Liszt's 3 Liebesträume. Very exciting. You?
I closed my eyes. Why did he have to listen to classical music? Why couldn't he listen to something annoying, like emo or death metal? Why did he have to be so goddamn perfect?
The kitchen was silent, save for the opening music from the movie in the living room. My fingers decided to be honest.
Not a thing, truthfully. Just thinking.
I held my breath until I received his quick response.
What are you thinking about, Ms. Swan?
I ran my fingers over the screen randomly, trying to figure out how honest I wanted to be. How honest I could be.
How lame it would be to text you instead of just call.
My forehead was pressed to the tabletop when I heard the rattle next to me.
I'm glad that you did.
It was time. No more stalling. My hands were shaking as I typed what I couldn't say out loud.
I'm ready for you to ask me.
My fingers immediately wove together, fought against one another as I struggled with the churning energy pulsing through my limbs.
It was done. Out there, out of my hands. Ohholyfuckinggod. I felt sick, relieved, stupid, excited. I thought about the previous few days, and what I had been trying to convince myself: that I didn't need to do this…
Buzz.
Well, that makes things difficult. I'd rather do this in person, but I also know I can't wait.
Guh. How could words on a screen take my breath away?
This is better, trust me. It was easier to be honest in a bubble on a screen. I'll make a less of a fool of myself.
But I'm missing that blush again.
I nearly swooned out of my seat. This time, I had no response before my phone buzzed again.
Ms. Swan, may I please take you out on a proper date?
I bit my lip, not allowing a smile.
Yes.
His response took me by surprise.
How about tomorrow night, after work?
My mind immediately tried to come up with reasons that couldn't, but I recognized the irrational habit.
Not wasting any time? I tried to joke.
Not wasting any *more* time, he clarified.
I felt like a teenager being asked to the prom, palms sweaty, stomach heaving.
Because God help me, I didn't want to waste any more time, either.
Tomorrow will work.
I felt the phone buzz, and I untangled my hands from my hair to read his response.
Fantastic. I'm looking forward to it.
Alice's frightened squeal from the living room was the perfect reminder that this wasn't a dream. This was happening.
I'm going on a date. With Edward. Tomorrow.
Fuck. Me.
Me too. And I meant it.
His next message piqued my curiosity.
I have some ideas… Will you trust me to come up with something for us by tomorrow?
I stared at the screen, thinking about the prospect of having no control over tomorrow's plans. But he asked me to trust him… and I wanted to. And that's exactly why he was so dangerous.
Yes, that will be fine.
The suspense might very well kill Alice. She'll just have to deal, I thought.
Excellent. I pictured his crooked smile, and my heart ached to see it. Until tomorrow, then.
Goodnight again, Ms. Swan.
The memory of those whispered words earlier tonight came back to me, the rush of hot breath on my skin. I gasped, and once again my body immediately responded... and he wasn't even in the fucking room this time.
Jesus.
Good night, Mr. Masen.
My excitement had not dissolved as I bounded upstairs. I felt lighter than I had in days, excited and horrified and nervous and a million other things that I just couldn't process tonight. I shut my door and flung myself into my bed, sinking into soft down and uncertainty.
As I shut my eyes, my hands automatically slid slowly down my side, across my soft stomach, coming to rest at the waist of my pajamas.
I whimpered into the darkness, found warmth, and reminded myself that I was alive.
AGH! Where do you think they are gonna go??
Without a doubt, I have the most amazing readers. If you follow me on Twitter, (ahlthyaddiction), you had the pleasure of me tweet/bitching about how badly this chapter kicked my ass. Thank you all for being so incredibly patient with me; I hope the length makes up for the wait. (PS: RockABelly, your PMs make me squee. Thank you!)
Here's the good news: chapter 11 is already written and chapter 12 is almost done, so the next two updates will be fairly quick! Woohoo!
I have a question for you all: would you guys care for some one shots with these characters? If so, may I ask with who, POV, any specific parts, etc? I'd love to hear your thoughts.
Again, thank you so much for your support. I really, truly love love love you all.
- ahealthyaddicion
(btw, so, are we gonna make out or what? *taps foot* Emo Bella makes me feel needy.)