Warning: I'm using the work "cock" in this chapter. It's cringe-worthy. I think I'm going to have to retreat even deeper into the ff-closet now.

I don't own Twilight. If I did, I'd award my fictional Eddie the living stipend for pretty boys.

~ VIII. ~

Sunday, July 19, 1931

We were supposed to meet today, but she never showed up. Alec showed up in her stead at our bench, an hour after she was supposed to be there. He gave me a letter from her.

It's sealed with wax which has her initials stamped into it. I don't dare to open it. It's sitting on the small desk in my room.

He told me an unexpected social call she needed to make interfered with her plans, and that she was terribly sorry that she couldn't make it.

I suspect it's a lie. I've confessed my love for her and she's running. She doesn't feel the same. Or she wants to stop this before this – us – gets out of hand. She knows it's not possible. We can't be.

~000~

I sat there half the night, playing with her letter in my hand, fully expecting it to be a goodbye note. I briefly contemplated my response if this was the end. I'd have to find her to speak to her. I wouldn't be able to leave it like this.

When I opened it, I was stunned. It was only one line; two sentences, black on white.

I love you, Edward Cullen. I will miss you today.

Bella

I'm still staring at her note. There is no doubt, no 'may be'. She's braver than I am. She's not a coward. Her handwriting is ridiculous, not at all elegant. But I love it, the words, her handwriting and the rest of the girl.

New Orleans, 1950

I feel like an intruder, yet I can't put them down. I pick up the notebook in my hands and hold it in front of my face. His handwriting is cursive and elegant; it perfectly represents the romantic he obviously was or maybe still is. I contemplate closing his notebook and putting it away. A small envelope falls out. The paper is heavy, and when I see the seal, I know who wrote it and what the note inside says. Nevertheless, I open the envelope up carefully and take out the small card. I always liked her handwriting. I disagree with Mr. Cullen's assessment. It's not ridiculous; her script is masculine and strong, in stark contrast to her outward appearance. I barely remember her; only little things, like the color of her hair in the sun, her dazed eyes, her small figure and the smell of something sweet. He kept the note. I flip to the next page and continue reading his diaries.

Saturday, July 25, 1931

I was walking on air when I strolled to the library last Monday. Her note meant that I stood a chance; that we were more than just a daydream. I was starting to wonder about our future in earnest. As I looked at some of the nicer homes along my walking route to school, I contemplated what would be enough for her. Would some of the smaller bungalows in the less desirable neighborhoods of town be fine with her or would she be miserable in it?

I'd never before thought about settling down. Consequently, I'd never worried about how to obtain enough money to pay for those sorts of things – a wife and kids.

Money had never impressed me. I never strove to be rich, but the minute I knew I couldn't turn my back on the girl and walk away I couldn't help but regret my lack of ambition concerning all pecuniary things.

I'm not sure I can change though, at least not completely. I still personally don't care about money; I need very little to live on; I only want it for her.

My family certainly wasn't wealthy, but we weren't poor either; at least not until Black Tuesday hit and wiped away our savings. Instead of reading The Wall Street Journal, as my father, the earnest little bookkeeper, recommended, I read Little Blue Books on anything from Socialism to How To Pleasure Your Spouse.

Although, my dad argued with me forcefully that the knowledge I gained from reading any of those pinko books, as he called them, would be useless, and I was better off taking another math class and reading the Journal, I'd ignored him. Emmett had been around to fulfill his expectations. Until he wasn't. Then after his death it didn't matter anymore, because it was too late; there were no more jobs to be had and no more money to be made from trading essentially worthless stocks.

I'd had the last laugh, albeit a bitter one, when, despite reading the Journal everyday on his way to work, my old man lost all of his savings during the stock market crash and, subsequently, his job.

Now I worry about it. Maybe I should have taken his advice. Maybe I'd be able to earn a better living as an accountant, a broker or a banker. I highly doubt it though. Hardly anybody makes money in this economic climate. Going back to school was the right choice.

Strangely enough, I've discovered during our lunches on the lawn near the library that Bella doesn't seem to be entirely impressed or beholden to wealth either. At least that's the feeling I got from some snippets of our conversations this week.

On Monday, when I couldn't wait to see her to tell her that I love her, I decided to sit on the front steps of the library to wait for her. I'd figured, since there was no way I was getting any studying done that day, I might as well not bother or pretend. I searched the approaching people nervously for her, my knee bouncing up and down. When she arrived, right around her usual time, I almost didn't recognize her. She was wearing pants, flat tennis shoes, a loose fitting striped shirt and no jewelry.

"I'm so sorry about yesterday. Did Alec come to see you? Are you hungry? I brought food," she said with a smile on her face.

"I'm always hungry for your food. I missed you." I got up and kissed her chastely on the cheek, before we walked to our usual spot in the shade. I stared at her when she unceremoniously sat down across from me and started unpacking our lunch.

"Something wrong?" she asked, looking perturbed.

"Yeah, I'm confused . . ." I narrowed my eyes, inspecting her clothing and her lack of jewelry and makeup. "No pretty dress today."

"Jeez, Edward! Would I have known that you're so attached to my clothes, I would have made more of an effort instead of just presenting you with plain old me today. Since you said you may be in love with me, and I know that's not quite a full-fledged declaration of love … still … I thought this was enough …" She looked a little dejected and I had to stop her.

"I love you, since the moment I saw you, I am certain. Only you. And I like this." I tugged at her pants before reaching for her hand. I couldn't resist and stole a quick kiss from her mouth, feeling the familiar current of electricity running through me. "I'm surprised that's all. So the dresses … the perfume …" I didn't smell it. All I smelled was soap and the unique essence of the girl.

A wide smile reached her lips, spreading to the rest of her face and then her eyes.

"My mother buys that stuff and insists I wear it. I don't really care for it, but the dresses came in quite handy when I first tried to get your attention."

I laughed, remembering her changing dress routine and all the rest.

"Your aunt doesn't care that you are wearing pants?"

"No, she actually is just like my mother in that respect. My mother won't notice what season it is or my dad's absence for days in a row, but if I tried to sneak out of the house wearing pants, she'd wake up out of her lithium-induced coma and yell at me. So, no my aunt would never let me leave the house like this if she was around to see me. But it just so happened that dear Aunt Petunia got a letter from the bank this morning, which I assume wasn't too pleasant. Hence, she's locked herself in her bedroom, pretending to suffer from a severe migraine. Pathetic."

"Give the old lady a break. I'm sure it's hard to see your way of life slowly disappear."

"Oh, please. She just doesn't want to face the facts. She should just sell the old clunker of a house she lives in now and make do with less. I mean really, who needs ten bedrooms when the only people who ever come around these days are my mother and I? Instead, she's too scared to even check her bank account statements, sticking her head in the sand like an ostrich. Can you believe she still buys food for guests who long ago stopped coming? According to her 'you have to have enough supplies in the house, just in case' … please, give me a break!" she said with an exasperated sigh, while handing me a sandwich.

"Well, I'm certainly not complaining," I admitted, taking a bite.

"Another reason why I'm happy I found you. At least the food doesn't go to waste now."

I frowned at her and she laughed.

When I finished eating and she stopped picking at her food, I moved next to her, placed my arm around her waist and kissed her on the cheek. She smiled in response. "I love you," I whispered. She wrapped her arms around my chest and leaned her head against my shoulder.

"So who taught you to cook? Your mother?"

She laughed, but there was sarcasm and bitterness in her laughter.

"No. My mother doesn't cook. I don't think she knows how. I think she'd starve if she had to feed herself. Our cook raised me." Her voice sounded sad. I moved my head to look at her face.

"What's wrong with your mother?"

"Nothing really. She was never really a happy person as long as I can remember. Then they diagnosed her as depressed. I don't know. I was young. I didn't understand. She couldn't have any more children after I was born. They gave her laudanum first and then lithium. I think she takes both now. And drinks. I don't really know her all that well. Most days, she's like a ghost that lives in our house."

"Unless you wear pants," I joked and her smile reappeared.

"Yeah, that always wakes her up."

"What would your dad say if he caught you in this outfit with me?"

"I think that would mean dinner in the kitchen for the rest of my life, and not because I'm with you. He'd like you … he has more respect for doctors than I ever had."

"I'm not a doctor yet. I'm just a medical student. I'm sure he wouldn't be pleased."

"Stop being so pessimistic, please. I can't take it."

Reality is best taken in small doses, I discovered, and so I let it go.

~000~

Aunt Petunia recovered from her migraine episode after only two days; Bella is wearing dresses again. As much as I liked her in pants, I prefer the sight of her in a dress.

For the rest of the week, I carefully avoided any attempts by her to drag us back into the storage stacks of the library. Too much privacy. My resistance in that regard is wearing thin and if she tempts me again, I can't guarantee that I'll be able to push her away. I've resolved it's best to avoid the situation all together. The last thing I want to happen to her is an untimely pregnancy. She'd be stuck with me in a crummy apartment. I don't want that for her, even if she seems fine without the dresses and the perfume. I barely make enough money to feed myself, never mind a wife or child.

Sunday, August 2, 1931

We went to the movies tonight to see "City Lights." She was nervous, I could tell. She chewed on her bottom lip incessantly and barely paid attention to the screen in front though she'd seemed excited about seeing it at first. I was starting to wonder whether anybody she knew was in the theater with us, but she didn't let go of my hand and kissed me, so I assumed that wasn't it. I wanted to bring it up to figure out whether I could do anything to calm her down, but I didn't know how to approach her about it.

"So, did you enjoy the movie?" I asked casually, walking out of the theater hand in hand with her. It had been painfully obvious that she'd barely been present during the movie.

"Yes, I did."

"You did?"

"Yes, silly. Why?"

"Because you seemed preoccupied. Is something wrong, Bella?"

"No, everything is perfectly fine. I meant to ask you something though."

"Ask away."

"My parents are hosting a party of sorts very soon … Sunday, two weeks from now, to be exact. So …" She glanced at me from the side, not finishing her sentence.

"And?" I asked, wondering where she was going with this.

"I have to go, of course, and I'm leaving with Alec the Friday evening before. We're planning to go by railroad. I was wondering whether you would be able to take some time off from work to come along with us." She stared at me with big brown eyes and suddenly I was nervous.

"I can try," I said, calculating in my head how many paychecks I'd lose. She looked disappointed and I couldn't take it. I'd probably lose five days of pay to take the trip with her, but I couldn't deny her. "I will. I promise. Count me in."

Her smile returned and she grabbed my hand tighter. "You scared me for a second, Edward! I promise you'll like it."

I've saved up some money for next semester's books; I guess I'll have to dip into my savings.

Tuesday, August 4, 1931

Everything seems to be in order for my trip. My supervisor reluctantly granted me the days off, complaining incessantly for fifteen minutes that he didn't know how to run the place without my expert preparation of corpses anymore. Alec apparently had already purchased a train ticket for me last week; I'm yet to figure out how to repay him. He also arranged for my accommodation at his house during my stay.

I owe the man too much. I'd be lying if I'd say I was entirely comfortable with his generosity. When I stopped by his office today to thank him personally, he told me he was happy to help because he owed Bella a great a deal. He neglected to mention for what or why, and I didn't want to pry. He also mentioned that he owed me personally for Mr. Whitlock's employment with none other than Aro. I told him undoubtedly being in Aro's employ wasn't all good news, but he vehemently disagreed with me on that.

I'm concerned about meeting her parents, worried that they'll think me unworthy of dating their only daughter. I haven't discussed my concerns with Bella. She seems so happy about the trip and I don't want to worry her. I can no longer imagine my life without her, and I know I'll do whatever I have to to be with her, even if that means working night and day to repay Alec for the train ticket.

Tuesday, August 11, 1931

I'm blaming it on the dress. She waltzed into the library yesterday wearing a sheer, silken, white dress, temporarily distracting me and at the same time tearing down my wall of resistance. In the end it took all but a wink to lure me into the stacks behind the circulation desk.

Nothing about her kisses was innocent. Restraint flew out the window before the door shut behind us. I couldn't help it. I pushed her against the nearest shelf and pressed myself against her, while her hands touched me, teased me, until I was beside myself with physical want. For her. Only her.

"I want you," I managed to say between strangled breaths and wet kisses, grinding my hips into hers. "But please . . ."

"Edward, please . . ."

I didn't want her to feel rejected again; I didn't want to deny her. I struggled for a second with myself before deciding there was nothing wrong with at least bringing my girl some pleasure. So I found the seam of her dress with one hand and pushed it up.

Convinced that she'd won this battle, she started unbuttoning my shirt with her nimble little hands.

"Slow down, Bella," I pleaded calmly and she moved her hands away from my shirt into my hair. I felt the outside edge of her lacy underwear, and moved my hand back down to her knee. I let my fingers glide from her knee to the inside of her leg. My hand grazed her thigh, moist with sweat. Her breath hitched when I reached between her legs. Her panties were damp, yet I could feel her tense up and her lips stopped moving against mine.

"Relax, baby. I love you. This is only for your pleasure."

I kissed her gently, coaxing her with my tongue, and began caressing her slowly over her underwear. When she starting kissing me back, I pushed the fabric away and felt her slick, warm center. I drew circles around her clitoris with my thumb and slowly pushed a finger inside of her. I waited to see whether this caused her discomfort, but she seemed fine; in fact, her kisses became more urgent and her hips rocked naturally against my hand. I continued my movements with my forehead pressed against hers, until I felt her tense at once and then relax, a soft sigh escaping her mouth.

I held her until her breathing calmed down. I was convinced I'd dodged a bullet, and was rubbing deliberate circles on her back, when I felt her hand shifting to my pants. I couldn't move. Even over the fabric, the sensation of her touch was too good to oppose.

"Bella, not here and . . . please –" She held one finger up to my mouth to shush me.

"It's fine. I just want to return the favor," she whispered rubbing her hand over me.

The rational part of my brain told me to push her hand away and stop this, but my body felt powerless, too weak to withstand her tempting touch. So I let her unzip my pants and touch me with unsure fingers.

"Show me how to touch you," she requested as her fingers explored my heated skin.

I looked down at her fingers on me and swallowed hard. My hand moved down seemingly on its own volition and I stroked myself twice up and down, before she pulled my hand away and mimicked my movements with hers.

"Like this?"

"Yes." I squeezed my eyes shut, enjoying her touch.

I couldn't wrap my mind around the girl stroking me like this and much to my dismay Bella was a quick learner in all things sensual in nature.

"Bella." I gazed at her hand, her thumb swiping of my tip. A low hiss of pleasure escaped me.

"Yeah," she purred. I thrust my hips forward into her hands in response and she increased her tempo. Her hands felt magical, soft and so much better than my own . . . so good.

I groaned.

"Am I doing it wrong?" she whispered, placing a soft kiss on my neck and slowing her movements. Her fingers brushed lightly over the throbbing head of my cock again and I gasped.

"No, quite the opposite," I managed to mutter in a strained voice. She quickened her motions again with a firmer grip this time. I was teetering on the edge too soon.

"Sweetheart, you'll need to move soon . . . otherwise I'm afraid I'll leave a mess on your dress."

"I got it." She giggled and held up a handkerchief in her other hand. I chuckled. She tightened her grip, and I came a couple of seconds later.

We sank down on the floor together and rested there until I had to go to work.

"I won't be able to see you tomorrow," I told her before I left, tucking a lose curl behind her ear.

"Why?"

"I have to work a double shift. I'll be here on Wednesday to see you, if you have time to come."

"I have to go shopping with my aunt on Wednesday. Thursday?"

"Thursday," I confirmed. "I'll miss you."

We kissed good-bye too briefly at the gate.

I want to regret what happened between us yesterday, but I can't. I'm addicted to her touch. It's my new favorite drug. So much better than anything Aro could possibly serve, and more calming than anything Emmett and I used to smoke in jazz bars back in the day. All I can think about now is that I want more and when I will get my next fix.

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