Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.
An: I hope you're enjoying reading this as much as I am enjoying writing it.
Can't Help Myself: Chapter 3
Present …
The Clearwater's house is crowded, and I fight the urge to run the minute I've stepped through the door. There are too many people in too small a space.
Sue, Harry's wife, smiles at me the moment she sees me walk in. I think she knows how uncomfortable I am.
"Bella, honey, why don't you come sit over here," she says, her arm is wrapped around my shoulders, guiding me towards a chair in a corner that is surprisingly void of people. Most have gone into the kitchen for food or drinks, and I am so very grateful to be left alone for even just a short while.
I am not sitting long before a familiar face is entering my solitude. Her features resemble those of my father so much that I'm taken aback for a moment.
I briefly wonder why I don't remember seeing her at the grave site. Then again, I don't remember much about the service except seeing my father's coffin before me … and you.
It doesn't seem fair that on a day such as this you should be occupying my thoughts at all, but you do.
You always do.
My Aunt Mary reaches me, and I stand up to receive her with a heartfelt hug. "I'm so sorry sweetie," she cries softly into my shoulder, hugging me closer. My eyes instantly well up as I hold her just as tight.
"Thank you," I whisper quietly. I'm afraid if I speak any louder my voice will break.
She pulls back, dabbing at her eyes with a Kleenex she holds in her hand.
I've missed my aunt over the years almost as much as I've missed my father. She's the one who stood up for us when Charlie tried to stop me from seeing you. Do you remember?
Somehow, I don't doubt you do.
I bite my lip before I ask the question burning at the back of my throat. "Is um, is Alice here?"
My aunt looks at me lovingly, her eyes kind and understanding. It makes me want to crawl into her lap the way I did as a child. She reminds me so much of Charlie that I can't foresee saying goodbye in order to return home.
She shakes her head, and I my shoulders slump.
"She wanted to be here, but her flight was delayed and she just couldn't make it time. The plane arrives this evening, so I'm sure you'll see her first thing tomorrow so we can start on …"
Her voice trails, but I know what she's planning to say. So we can start on going through my father's things. It's soon, however, I don't have long to take off from work and I know it would be an awful thing to do let his belongings sit abandoned.
"I understand."
My voice is detached, defeated. I stare at the floor.
Soft fingers brushed my cheek lovingly, coaxing me to look up. "It'll be okay. Alice forgives you."
The woman always had great intuition and somehow she knows exactly what I need to hear. With those final parting words Aunt Mary makes her way back into the crowd of people, once again leaving me on my own.
A knot has formed in the pit of my stomach because Alice is yet another regret I hold on to. It has been at least a year since I've last heard from her; just a few short words via email. No phone calls, no text messages.
I wonder if she even has my number anyway.
She didn't deserve to be cut out of my life, but I just … I didn't know what else to do at the time.
No amount of blaming on stupid immaturity could take back the horrible things I said to her years ago, but I wish I could.
I want my friend back.
Now is not the time to dwell on my past mistakes, however, so I focus my attention on the room.
I'd get something to eat, as that seems the thing to do, but I know my stomach wouldn't accept anything more than a glass of water right now. I go into the kitchen anyway, hoping to make myself useful now that it has cleared of the crowd some.
Families are leaving to go back to their own homes, having done the required duty of paying their respects.
I am grateful for their departure. It made it so I had less people to pretend for.
Only a few stay people are left mingling in the living room, yet I'm still hiding out in the kitchen, alone.
I'm elbow deep in dish water when I hear the kitchen door swing open.
"Really, Sue, I don't mind washing a few dishes," I call out over my shoulder, never taking my eyes off the plate I'm scrubbing furiously. She'd already come to check on me twice, and both times I'd told her to go.
"I'd say that's quite a bit more than a few."
Your voice is deep, matured, but I'd recognize it anywhere. Eight years without the sound has been far too long.
The now clean plate falls from my grip and drops to the bottom of the sink with a clatter. My body is frozen, tense from anticipation. Trying to hide the fact your voice affects me so strongly would be failure because I am an open book to you, even now.
"I still don't mind," I say softly. I don't want to speak louder and possibly scare you away.
Carefully I pick up the plate and rinse it, but before I can set it on the counter to dry you step closer and remove it from my hand. You are careful not to touch my skin, and a small pain aches in my chest with the knowledge.
I am not used to you being close enough to touch, yet so very far from my reach. It's a personal torture I'd wish upon no one.
With a towel in one hand and the plate in the other you dry each dish I pass you. We're quiet as we work.
There is so much that needs to be said, questions that need to be asked.
Later.
It's a silent promise that another day, somewhere more private, is when we will discuss those things.
From the corner of my eye I see you open your mouth, only to close it seconds later.
I am patient as you chose the words you want to ask. "I didn't see Jasper at the funeral."
It's a statement, not a question.
It also doesn't escape my notice that instead of mentioning Alice, you've mentioned her husband. You're probably afraid of my reaction if you had asked about the former. I know who you really mean, though, so I answer accordingly.
"Alice's flight was late, she'll be here tonight."
The fact you don't comment on my response, only nod, let's me know I've assumed your meaning correctly.
I long for the days when the four of us – Alice, me, you, and Jasper – spent our summers together, inseparable. Sadly, with time you grow up, and in our case, apart.
We're done with the dishes much quicker than I'd like to be. I'm not ready to leave your side yet.
I may be masochistic, but I crave the closeness despite knowing you are no longer mine. I'm untrusting of my hands not to reach out and touch you in some way as they crave to do, so I busy myself with wiping down the already clean countertops.
Your hands are buried deep in your pockets, and I wonder secretly if you're fighting the same urges that I am.
The suit jacket I saw you wearing earlier is lying neatly across the back of a kitchen chair, and the sleeves of your neatly pressed button-down shirt are rolled up near your elbows. Somehow the look makes you look a little more like your younger self, and it makes me smile.
The younger version of you is one I am comfortable with. It's a version my very soul knows intimately.
"I didn't think you'd come today," I blurt suddenly, and then I want to slap myself. It sounds rude, like I don't think you care.
However, if you're surprised by my question you don't show it.
Just like I'm not surprised by the answer I receive.
"I didn't think I would either."
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