Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.
An: I'm baaack! I cannot even begin to apologize for disappearing, but so much has happened over the last year that it is ridiculous. Not only did I buy my first house, I also graduated college, AND I'm pregnant! Little one #3 is due this September. I feel like I am finally in a place to enjoy writing again, so I hope to pick up where I left off and continue this story because it means so much to me.
For those who previously commented about Edward & Bella moving quickly, don't you remember having a crush at a young age? Wouldn't you have liked nothing more to be holding hands with that person as a confirmation of returned feelings?
Can't Help Myself: Chapter 9
Present …
We work in quiet tandem. Our movements resemble a choreographed dance because when I move, you move; although you are very careful to keep a certain distance between us, making sure that we never touch.
My plan to get to know you, this "you" that I don't recognize is futile. I am unsure of what to say, and you don't say a word.
Yet the silence is not uncomfortable, although somehow it is not quite comfortable either.
Being in your presence keeps me constantly on edge. A delusional part of me feels that we are the old Bella and Edward seen in the photograph that is currently hidden in my purse. I had snuck it there when you left to use the bathroom. All the ones I used to own have been gone a long time now.
But when I reach out to hand you a stack of books and you hesitate before taking them from me I am reminded once more that we are nothing like the versions of ourselves who last stood in this living room together.
Your lack of conversation pushes me to assume you are not ready or willing to talk, so I don't push you, and instead I settle for watching you from the corner of my eye as I pack. Alice and her mother are scarcely seen other than to ask me a question about a possession of my father's. My typical response is to do with it as they please, and therefore their inquiries are fewer as time goes on.
Your movements are precise, rigid, and formal. It's an oddity I can't come to terms with. Again I wonder what has changed you so much.
Another hour passes like this: I toss items into either boxes or trash bags and you carry them outside or to the garage as needed. A few times Alice or Aunt Mary calls you away to help them instead, and I take that time to breathe deeply and relax as best I can.
My body and mind are struggling with the same feelings are the day before. The knowledge that you are close, yet unattainable is physically painful. A small part of me wants to ask you to leave just so I can be at peace, but I never will because being without you is almost just as bad.
I am grateful when the final box from the living room is packed. You are elsewhere, having been called away again by Alice, so I have no problems carrying it out to the garage myself.
Perhaps it is my muddled, conflicted brain distracting me, but when I walk through the entryway and into the kitchen I feel as if I have been electrocuted.
The bare skin of your arm has brushed against mine, leaving a trail of hot, tingly skin in its wake. It is the smallest of touches, but my arm feels like it has been set on fire, and for the first time in years I feel alive. Are you affected to?
The box jolts slightly in my arms as I jump involuntarily at the unexpected touch. Somehow I manage to keep ahold of it, if only just barely. In the moment I am not sure if I should panic, cry, or rejoice at having felt you so close to me.
You make the decision for me when I turn to catch your eye, only to realize you have already retreated up the stairs without so much as a backward glance.
My eyes begin to well immediately, but it's nothing a few deep breaths won't will away. I continue through the kitchen and into the garage, not even noticing my aunt standing just a few feet away, a witness to all that had just happened.
For the rest of the day you make yourself scarce. The only time I see you again is when you should up to eat the meager lunch of sandwiches and chips I picked up for the gas station down the street.
Eventually I give up even looking to see if you will reappear in the same room as me and instead I seek out Alice, both to help her and further take steps towards mending our friendship further.
When I find her we agree to start on Charlie's bedroom. It is the last room that needs sorting through. Either by instinct or the look at my face she knows how hard it is for me to be in there, so she keeps me conveniently preoccupied with chatter about her pregnancy, life in Seattle, and Jasper. It turns out he had a business meeting out of town and cannot make it here until tomorrow. I am ever so grateful for her distraction.
When she asks me about Jacksonville I answer elusively, not ready to discuss certain aspects of my personal life just yet. Alice picks up on this immediately.
"How are Renee and Phil?" she asks instead.
I shrug. "They're happier than I've seen them in a while," I answer truthfully. My mother's relationship with my step-father had been rocky at best in the beginning, but through the years they've worked it out and remained strong together. "I think they're planning a vacation together soon," I add.
"I'm a bit surprised she didn't come with you," she states quietly, probably not wanting to offend me.
It's the first time I think I've smiled all day. "She said something about it 'not being her place.' I'm not sure what that's supposed to mean, but I think it translates into her not being comfortable here. "
Alice nods. "Makes sense."
In reality I know there is no way on Earth my mother would have come all the way to Forks, WA from Florida in order to attend a funeral for a man she hadn't seen thirteen years, even if they had once been married. Some may call it selfish, but I understand her feelings behind the matter.
We finish just before dinner.
I barely recognize Charlie's room, let alone the rest of the house. It feels bare and unnatural as we walk through it now.
When Alice and I descend the steps her mom is sitting in the recliner, feet propped up. She looks worn down and tired.
Edward is nowhere to found.
"He's not here," Aunt Mary states when she catches me sweeping the room for any sign of him.
"Oh?" I respond casually, perhaps too casually.
My aunt quirks a brow at me, the same look Alice used to give me when we were younger. "Don't play coy, it doesn't work on me."
I blush and bite my lip, looking down at my feet.
"His mom called and asked him to run an errand for her. He left about ten minutes ago," she informs me.
I sigh involuntarily in relief. My hope is that he only left because his mom called and not because he was in a desperate hurry to be away from me.
It is inevitable I will see him again during my stay seeing as his parents still live in the house next door. But it is then I realize I do not know if he still lives in Forks and if not, then how long he plans to stay. I make a mental note to ask Alice later to see if she knows. Perhaps he and Jasper are still in touch.
Later, when Alice and her mom are both gone, I ascend the steps to what was once my room. I am unprepared for the stark bareness of the room when I open the door. The photo collages, leftover trinkets from my youth, and other miscellaneous item left behind from childhood are no longer scattered carelessly. I wonder briefly who came in here to clean through it, but I don't dwell on the thought. Whoever it was, I am grateful to them. If there was one room in the house aside from Charlie's that I dreaded sorting through, it was mine.
I'm a disgusting mess, but my body is too tired to justify taking a shower. Instead I collapse on my bed, pulling the well-loved quilt up to my chin, and I promptly fall asleep.