We reached 100 reviews! Thank you all so much! I think this calls for a celebration. So, everyone who reviews this chapter will recieve a short sneek peek of the next chapter, which is a lot more angsty and complex. It also invloves a hell of a lot of jealousy...
The bad news is that summer is coming up, so I'm away all summer. Yep, until the 29th of August. I'm really sorry guys, but this is a regular thing. I will try to write while I'm away, but I can't promise anything. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy the holidays and have a wonderful break!
WARNING! This chapter contains mention of assault with implied rape. It is quite important to a character, but if you do not wish to read about this, you may give me your email address and I will send you a chapter without these subjects.
Glorious
I walk into the house with a smile, hearing the familiar clunk of my keys hitting the bowl, the sound of home. The house breathes quietly as I turn the lights on. I shake my locks vigorously and droplets of water fly off, glinting in the light. Bubbles of happiness rise up through my chest, and I almost jump across the living room. I feel like a child again.
During the past few days, I realised that I have become extremely perceptive. I noticed things I hadn't noticed before, like the way people drove or the way hair blows in the wind, or the way Edward stared at nothing when he was in deep thought. It was rather sweet.
Jumping on the couch, I laugh as the bubbles pop against my chest, tickling me with a warmth I rarely experienced nowadays. Edward and I shared more of our casual days, talking about any random thing that came to mine. I loved these days- we are so carefree, although I guess mine are laced with an underlying yearn for something more. I try to convince myself that this cannot happen, but I see Edward in person, and all of that disappears and it's just me and him. I think of him and all I am falls apart. Sometimes I feel as if people know; they look at me for a second too long and they know; I remind myself constantly that this cannot be true.
This was a time of day I love, after the end of university and before Edward comes home. University is riddled with dodging a shy but insistent Maria. She's managed to conjure some kind of connection to me, even if it is only one sided. Sometimes I welcome it into my arms because I do truly enjoy her company, and she takes my mind off Edward. She makes me feel normal. However, I try to shrug her off when Edward is there. I've seen him looking- he smiles back without a word and turns his attention back to Alec or his dinner, but I still feel that I'm betraying him.
The rain is pouring now, falling along the window, blurring everything outside. It patters on the roof, the only sound to be heard. I'm still soaked, but comfortable. Lying on the couch, I fiddle with the creases in my jeans.
Edward and I dine every day, taking turns to cook. He teaches me simple dishes and laughs while I stumble through, having as much fun as him. He eggs me on to learn songs on the piano, but I prefer to watch him play, so we end up sitting side by side on the bench. He leans over me to reach the lower octaves, hands straining, thighs touching. I can feel his breathing, strong and deep as his hands dance over the keys. His lips pout and straighten out with certain points of the music, and his brow sometimes creases when there's a hard part he can't quite get. The heat radiates from him when he plays. This time is precious, as it's the closest I ever get to him, emotionally and physically.
It's also given me the opportunity to see him frustrated. There was a part in a beautiful peace that he couldn't manage, and he ended up releasing his irritation using a growl. "Fuck's sake," he muttered under his breath, throwing his hand onto the piano. A loud clang filled the room, making me jump while he hopelessly ran his fingers through his hair.
I left at the point, thinking he could concentrate better. However, he refused to play without me and we ended up watching a program on the television, beers in hand.
I decide to have a shower before Edward comes home, to wash the rain from my body. What greets me in my room is surprising.
Over my bed, a large damp patch lies on the ceiling, brown and incriminating. The giant blotches mar the once crisp white ceiling, it being the only source of comfort during my cynical moments. Large caps of what drip from the blotches, soaking the clean bed sheets. The metal, watery smell of damp hangs in the air as I stand watching in the doorway.
"Uh…,"I say to nothing, unsure what to do next. I hesitantly creep forward, neck craned upwards to inspect the damage, almost afraid that it would reach out and touch me. Satisfied that it was safe, I pulled off the thin covers I had been using in the hot weather, and find my mattress soaked. This wouldn't dry before tonight, meaning I couldn't sleep in the comfort of my room. I stand under the patch, inspecting it almost quizzically.
"Whoa." I hear the sharp intake of breath behind me and turn to find Edward with an expression similar to mine. He smiles when he sees me, sending butterflies racing along my stomach. I manage to contain them.
"Well….seems we need to do some repairing," he says sarcastically while I wonder how he can joke at this time.
"I better move the rest of my stuff out before it gets wet."
"Yes, do that. I'll move the mattress and the bed so we can get a bucket to put under there." So we start moving things around. I marvel at his sheer strength; he has a swimmer's body, lithe but strong.
When we finish, we both stand back and look at the room; everything is pushed to the side, facing the centrepiece- a green bucket. The steady pulses of the drips reverberate around the room.
"I'm sorry, Jasper," Edward runs his hands through his hair again. I look at him, baffled at his apology. "I think there were some faulty tiles on the roof, and I was meant to get them repaired, I just never got around to it."
"Edward, honestly, it's fine. It's only a couple of days on the sofa until they get fixed." His face takes on an expression that remotely resembles disgust.
"You're not sleeping on the sofa."
"Why?"
"Well, have you seen it?" I am starting to think he is overreacting at such a little thing.
"What's wrong with it?"
"It's too narrow and hard. You can hardly fit yourself in there; your feet would hang over the end."
"Well where the hell am I going to sleep?" I'm starting to get slightly annoyed.
"I was thinking, maybe, you could sleep in my bed." It sounds more like a question than a statement. My lips part, I am taken aback. My heart leaps, urging me to say yes, while my other side wonders what the consequences of such a decision would be. I must tread carefully. One wrong move on my part could send all of this crashing down, and I cannot face that yet. "Wait, I'm going to call the roofer and see if he can repair this tonight, then you may be able to sleep here."
"Okay." He leaves me perplexed and heads towards the phone. I perch on a kitchen chair, hands entwined in my lap. I almost hope that the roofer can come out tonight so that I would not have to torture myself with being in the same bed with Edward. A large part of me finds it endearing, a window into Edward's mind.
My heart is pulsing wildly now, adrenaline coursing through my body at such a silly little thing. Edward's gesture was caring. I am sure none of my other male friends would have given me the same offer if we were in the same situation. I am sure, however, all of my female friends would have given me the same offer.
I can faintly hear him talking over the phone. He returns quickly.
"He can't come out tonight, I'm sorry. He says he'll come out on Wednesday at the earliest. Apparently he has a very busy schedule." I smile meekly as Edward looks anywhere but at me.
We spend the night as normal, but there is an apprehension lingering in the air that I can't shake. We sit in his room, side by side on the piano bench, the remnants of a piece still ringing in the air.
"It's quarter past eleven, maybe we should hit the hay," he smiles to the piano. Immediately, my heart starts racing with the anticipation, or maybe the fear. We are both unsure of how to proceed next- it's almost as if we're strangers. Two simultaneous laughs come from both of us, and we laugh even more at the awkwardness of the situation. He eventually stands.
"Come on," he says, looking down at me. "You can use the bathroom first."
I stand on the cold tile floor, my knees weak and almost quaking from the adrenaline, the fear, the curiosity. I can hear the faint tinkling of a sweet, simple piece emanating from his piano. I brush my teeth aimlessly, staring through the mirror, not seeing my reflection. He stops when the piece finishes, and I realise I am concentrating on him rather than the foam in my mouth. My mind brings situations, fantasies even, to the surface, but I race to drown them before I become too entwined. Finishing my teeth, I stare at my reflection, not quite sure of who was looking back. This person is older, more mature, wiser. There are slight wrinkles under his eyes, which are bright. I am seeing things that weren't there before, and not just in my appearance. Sometimes I don't recognise the person who's staring back at me, but I understand that that person has felt more in these past few months than probably in his whole life. He is a man now, not a boy or anything in between, for that matter. And even though I am having to lie through my teeth when anyone asks me if I've seen anyone nice, I'm happy, because I'm feeling. It hurts, but I'm in love. At this moment, I don't think there's a greater feeling than that.
"Jazz, are you alright?"
"Yeah, I'm finished," I open the door to find Edward standing extremely close to my. Involuntarily, I suck in a breath and force a smile while my stomach twirls and releases butterflies flying down my limbs. He breathes a smile back, and now, he's glorious.
I move out of his way and shyly sit on the bed, as if it will jump back at me. I'm so tempted to sink into the covers and breathe in his smell, drown in it. Pulling the covers over my legs, I stare straight ahead, listening to the faint noises of him showering, changing into his pyjamas and finally brushing his teeth. When he comes out, he looks almost adorable, hair still wet, the droplets of water glinting in the dim light. I feel like an intruder, and peasant thrust in front of the king on his throne. He jumps into the bed, a playful gesture, pushing his scent towards me again, and I have to fight myself so I don't close my eyes.
"I try not to steal the covers, but I can't promise anything," he winks.
"Oh," I laugh, unsure of what to say next. My cynicism kicks in, wondering who else he has slept with, and whether he stole their part of the duvet. It makes me jealous, even though it shouldn't, but I can't bear the thought of him with anyone else. I want to share these precious moments with him.
He turns out the light and lays fully down, facing me. I make no advance to copy him, but continue looking ahead, trying not to notice his eyes.
"Have you ever loved someone?" I'm surprised by my own brashness, but I feel unusually confident. The dark unbinds the tongue.
"I think," he seems unsure, but nevertheless, his voice rings around the room. "Yes." His answer is final. I nod, satisfied. "Have you?"
"Probably."
"How do you know, though? I mean, you never know if there is going to be some greater feeling out there. There's no plateau. It's limitless."
"I think you'd know. It's the person you always hold on to, the person you always find. It's like, you drift unconsciously to them. You get those butterflies; you're erratic, but consumed with the deep feelings. You will love whatever they become. They'll burn within you, and you'll just keep on flying, soaring, until you fall together, hand in hand." Silence. I worry that I have overstepped the line.
"Do you write?" he says. I shift so I'm on my side, facing him, before replying.
"No. I've never really been interested in that kind of stuff."
"You're good. Poetic." I laugh at his statement, taking it as a compliment even if it wasn't intended to be.
"What about you? Do you write?"
"No, I'm more into my music. I've always envied people who can put their words down on paper, though. Sometimes, words are so much more effective than actions."
"Maybe so. When did you learn to play the piano?"
"When I was very young," he laughs. "My mother had an old grand, and I remember when I became fascinated with it. She taught me, and then I developed my skills myself. I wasn't fond of piano teachers, they were always so proper. I prefer learning songs on my own."
"Do you compose?"
"Yes. Quite a lot lately, actually. I go through phases where I can't play a note to where I write pages and pages of music." I press on, wanting to find out more about his personal life.
"Have you got a girlfriend?"
"No." More silence. We look into each other's eyes; I gulp. He doesn't break contact, his lips part, and I almost take a hand so I can skim my fingers over his temples, his hair, his eye lids. At this moment, I don't think I've wanted to kiss him more. The tingle between my legs intensifies, and I become painfully aware of an erection. I turn and stare at the ceiling before he can notice.
"Jasper?"
"Yes?"
"You know, I don't think I've ever had a better friend." I feel a warm wetness creep up to my eyes, and flow down my cheeks. My heart soars at his words, and I have to restrain myself from taking his face in my hands and holding him to my chest. The tears run freely, and I reply before he thinks I don't reciprocate his feelings. Wrong. I reciprocate more.
"Me too." We are quiet once again, but it's comfortable and it gives me a chance to collect myself. I didn't care where we were now, as long as Edward is here. Take me, Edward. Please.
"I've never been closer to anyone before. You make me so happy." More tears. I want to cocoon myself against his stomach; I want to find the corner of his smile again.
"I feel the same about you," I manage to push out, but I regret it as it sounds strangled and weak, the evidence of tears clearly lacing the sound. He doesn't say anything about it. I wonder if he's crying too, but I refrain from looking because I'm worried I will lose control completely. The surge of emotion is too much but not enough, because I want more. We lie like that for a few minutes, the tears riding over me until I'm calm enough to speak again.
"Tell me more."
"About?" he sounds perplexed.
"Anything."
"I was born in this Chicago, to Esme and Carlisle. They taught me so much and I'm forever indebted to them. I moved further north because I wanted to be myself. Everyone sets out thinking they're going to be someone, they're going to change the world. Every sets out as if they're going somewhere, but really, very few of us end up where we wanted to be. I was assaulted by a man three years ago." My head shoots towards him, not registering anything he said after. He catches me eye.
"It was something you heard on the news, something that happens to some poor girl at the wrong place at the wrong time. But it happened to me. You seem to think that you're invincible, but you're not. No one is. And I think I've learnt more about the world in those three years that in the rest of my life." He speaks in an almost monotone voice, but I know him too well to understand that he's fighting to keep the emotion out of his voice.
"I'm so sorry," I whisper.
"I still don't know why people say that. It's not your fault. We really should find a better way of expressing sorrow," he almost completely ignores my statement. His nose flares, and I realise he doesn't want to talk further. We lie in silence again as I cry and watch him calm down. He is brave.
"I think maybe we should sleep," I say.
"Thank you. Really, thank you."
"For what?"
"For everything." With that, he turns away, his back facing my. I watch his shirt skim over his muscles, as my mind reels on what he just confided in me. I don't think I've ever loved him more.
I take it all in, battling to keep myself from crying out. My eagle is grounded. He's broken, and I never realised. I thought I was struggling, but this put a whole new meaning to the word struggle. He is my salvation, but he had no one himself. I watch Edward, tucked into himself. Oh Edward, did I ever tell you how beautiful you were?