Happy Halloween!

I don't own Twilight.

~ VI. ~

Saturday, July 4, 1931

The week just won't pass; every day drags by slower than the last as the heat swelters. I worked two extra shifts to limit the time I spent in my room dreaming of, or agonizing over Bella – depending on how my mood strikes me.

At first, I pushed it aside as unimportant when she didn't want me to pick her up from her aunt's house, but now the unanswered question of "why" is festering in my gut. The rational part of my brain argues that she's only just met me and there is nothing formal to our friendship. I know I want to be more than a casual friend. The thought that this might be all I'll ever be to her scares and worries me, until my stomach is in a knot and I can't eat, sleep, or think straight anymore. I will Sunday to come. I wonder where she is all week. I wish she didn't have to leave town and would visit me instead at the library to rouse me out of the monotony that is my existence without her.

I don't know what her expectations are and, therefore, I'm entirely uncertain on how to prepare for our afternoon together. I had my one still decent suit washed and pressed. I contemplate buying flowers and handing them to her, but they would possibly wilt in this heat if she has to walk with them in hand, and so I throw out that idea.

This concern or more appropriately, this fixation, about a date with a girl is foreign to me. I have spent time with girls, women – whatever you want to call them; blondes, redheads, brunettes – I never had any particular preference, so long as they were nice to look at. In fact, you could probably say I was indifferent. They were random acquaintances who were easily charmed without much effort on my part, and I consumed what they willingly offered, never dreaming of a future with any of them. Intimacy was of no consequence to me. I could live with or without it. It felt like the world was at my fingertips back in those days, waiting for me to explore and exploit as I saw fit.

And I was fine with my current life before she strolled along, with her fancy dresses and her unsolicited opinions. I had school, a job, and a future I could look forward to. I seldom mourned my past. But now, the vision of the future, of becoming a doctor, has lost some of its shine. I still wanted to finish what I started, but if I end up without her, what kind of future would that be?

Clouds are hanging heavy in the sky today, yet no one seems deterred; Independence Day celebrations are in full swing. Flags are everywhere, and the smells of burning charcoal bricks, grilled meat and cotton candy hang in the air. Stores are selling frivolous fireworks that nobody can cough up the money for.

I promised my landlady, Mrs. Cope, that I would visit her this afternoon to taste some of the ribs she was preparing. It might rain and I'll have to sit in her overstuffed, murky-smelling dark living room. Judging by the general state of disrepair, bordering on decay, of the house, she doesn't have much, and that's why so far I've always declined her invitations. Even her clothing looks more worn out and patched together than mine. I'd seen her once in line for food at a church, and I can't shake that image of her: an old woman with grey hair lining up for some leftover charity items.

I don't feel like going downstairs, but I'll do so anyway. It's the polite thing to do. She never has any visitors other than her sister, and even she seems to be coming with less frequency these days.

I used to like this holiday. We'd usually spent it out in Long Island; we'd have a barbeque on the lawn, girls in sundresses strolling by on the beach and some fireworks towards the end of the day. Now I don't care for any holidays.

~000~

My afternoon visit with Mrs. Cope was painfully dull and did nothing to distract me; all my thoughts were still with the girl. Neither of us had much to say to the other, and I swore to myself I wouldn't do this again. My landlady and I sat around for about half an hour in silence after we'd finished the food; me staring at a wall cluttered with pictures of her dead husband, and she staring at the clock wondering when or if her sister would come.

To make matters worse, the food was bad. I never cared much for food and nowadays I eat anything just to fill my stomach. Yet I couldn't help but notice the stark difference between the meals Bella brought along for random lunches during the week and the food Mrs. Cope served on a holiday. Thinking about lunch with Bella made my stomach growl, and all I thought about while staring at the fading photographs was her. Thankfully Mrs. Cope's sister and her husband showed up eventually, and I managed to excuse my early departure by pretending to have to study.

I can't wait for tomorrow to come. I push my worries about why I shouldn't like the girl as much as I do aside and concentrate on the positive. She wants to see me, her lips touched my fingers, and her hands were wrapped in mine. I still haven't figured out what she sees in me, but I'm more hopeful that she must see something. Something that I can't quite see anymore, but that is still there somewhere. I will try my hardest to live up to her expectations. It will likely take me a long time to offer her anything, but today I hope that she'll wait for me. I know I would wait for her,

Sunday, July 5, 1931

I feel like am the luckiest bastard alive. I don't care about the fact that tomorrow I have to pull another night shift at the morgue; I don't care that I'll be stuck in the same rut of working and studying for the foreseeable future without much pay. Even the past seems less depressing. The guilt that usually looms over me is temporarily gone. It all seems distant and meaningless in comparison to her–at least for tonight.

I was early and waited for her on a bench near the gate. When she arrived five minutes late, I was already starting to get nervous, worrying that she might not show. But then she came walking around the corner in a tight-fitting robins blue dress with ruffles around its plunging neckline. I recognized her figure from the distance and swore I could smell her perfume in the air. I stayed on my spot on the bench, frozen in place, mesmerized by her figure as she sauntered over and sat down next to me.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Cullen." She poked my arm with her elbow and winked.

"Ms. Swan." I smiled and nodded.

"So, how have you been?"

"Fine, thank you for asking. How have you been? Or more interestingly, where have you been?" I asked out of curiosity, even though in the imaginary screen-by-screen sequence of our meeting, I wouldn't have asked that question; it sounded needy.

"I had the displeasure of spending the holiday in Savannah with Aunt Petunia at her cousin's house. It was utter boredom. We played bridge and sipped tea laced with whiskey. So there you have it! I'm sure your week was so much more exciting than mine. At least you can do and say as you please."

"I'm sorry to hear that, but I doubt my week would qualify as exciting. Shall we go?"

"Yes, please!" She jumped off the bench and clapped her hands, like a kid who's going to the candy store.

I offered her my arm and she wound hers around it. As we wandered down the avenue, we looked like any regular young couple on a lazy, late Sunday afternoon stroll and I smiled.

"Why are you smiling?"

"Because I'm walking down the street in this boring city, as you call it, with you."

"It's not really boring to me anymore since I found you."

"You found me?"

"Yes, I did. Admit it. If it were up to you, you'd still be drawing way too flattering pictures of me in the nude, from the distance, and I'd have to find another depressing book to read about silly, delusional or unhappy women."

Embarrassed by her honesty, I shook my head.

"I'm curious, are there any places you don't find boring, Bella?"

"Of course there are perfectly exciting places that are not boring at all. I find New York exhilarating; I can tolerate Boston – just not in the winter; Savannah is really not that bad as long as one doesn't have to stay with relatives; and of course I love New Orleans."

"So why didn't you stay there – with your parents – I mean? Not that I'm complaining that you are in Atlanta. After all, I wouldn't have had the pleasure of meeting you."

"Before I left my parents, they were nagging me every day about something they think I ought to do. Living with Aunt Petunia really isn't much better – she nags too – but at least she's half deaf and doesn't hear when I come or go. And she has a good stash of Port hidden in her basement."

I chuckled at the girl's taste for liquor and pulled her closer to me. When we arrived at the movie theater, Bella was excited that the movie showing that night was "Dracula." She'd read the book when she was a young girl and loved it. I didn't care what was happening on the screen in front of me. My eyes were mostly focused on her, as she sat chewing on her bottom lip and furrowing her eyebrows while staring at the screen and clutching my hand. Halfway through, she got spooked by the movie and leaned her face into my shoulder. I took the opportunity to put my arm around her.

After the movie, we talked and walked and touched. Careful touches that left me wanting more, like her hand gently swinging by mine, and my arm brushing her side. At every tree and every building entrance we passed, I was tempted to pull her into my arms to kiss her, but I resisted. Toward the end of the night, we returned to the bench where we met.

"So I'm getting a ride home in about. . ." she murmured, chancing a glance at her watch, standing in front of me, "in about ten minutes from the corner over there." I wasn't ready to let go of her yet, and I was searching for a reason to keep her with me longer.

So I missed what she was silently asking for when she placed one hand on my shoulder, bent her head back slightly and glanced up at me expectantly.

"So where does the deaf aunt live? If it's not too far, I'll walk you," I said, desperate for more time and wondering who was giving her a ride, oblivious to the opportunity.

"She lives all the way up in Buckhead. It's too far to walk," she answered with a huff, giving me an annoyed glance from underneath her eyelashes. "Look, Edward, I don't have all night."

I laughed. Bella's head was in the same place as mine all along, but I had been too focused on getting her to stay to figure out that she wanted me to kiss her.

"Oh, I see," I said with a smirk.

She seemed offended for a second, but then closed her eyes and jutted her chin forward. I placed my hands on her waist slowly and bent my head down with a smile on my face. I couldn't help but tease her. The girl is too cocky and pretty for her own good. I grinned as my lips almost touched hers and I felt her breathe against my mouth. So close. I waited a bit longer. She got impatient and smacked me with her purse on the arm. It was a game I knew how to play. When she was about to pull away from me, I tightened my grip, pulled her closer and let my lips graze hers. She kissed me lightly back, her lips barely touching mine.

Considering how brazen and confident the girl acts, her kiss was the opposite– innocent and inexperienced. This was new to her.

I briefly glanced at her, her white skin shining in the moonlight, her red lips and the purple of her closed eyelids adorned by long dark lashes; so pretty, so sweet that I wasn't sure why nobody had done this to her before. I moved my lips back to hers to kiss her properly. Her mouth responded to mine, cautiously at first until she got it. She opened her mouth for me, wrapped her hands around my neck and pushed herself against me, wanting more.

We kissed until she was out of breath and flushed crimson.

"I gotta run," she breathed. "Will you be in the library tomorrow?"

"It can be arranged."

"Well, arrange it then, please. Good night, Edward."

"Good night, Bella. Sweet dreams."

She walked to the corner, and I heard a car pull up and the door being opened and closed. The car took her away to a suburb famous for its fancy mansions, away from me.

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