Disclaimer: These characters belong to Stephanie Meyers.
Chapter 20
Bella POV
Consume (V.) (of a feeling) absorb all of the attention and energy of (someone)
What is it that he keeps trying to tell me without saying it? What is this feeling in my belly, in my chest? I'm all in knots and I'm wrapped up, tied up, and all consumed. Why does all the oxygen feel sucked out of a room when he enters? Why is it hard to breathe when he's around, and even harder when he's not? Why can't we stay away when we both know how wrong we are for each other?
I should have said no when he asked me to go to his father's gallery opening. I should have made up plans and spent my night stargazing in the dark to keep my mind off him. Knowing how obsessed I am, my mind probably would have visualized his face in the stars, smirking down at me for lying to him. He can't be escaped. He is the definition of persistent, and even I can't resist.
He'd come to pick me up, and ever the gentleman, he opened the door and ushered me into his dad's car before making his way to the driver's side to take his place.
We drove in silence at first, and usually, I wouldn't mind, but his incessant humming, which was normal, was somehow bothering me.
"How's your dad getting to the gallery?" I ask.
"He rode with Esme in her car."
"Will Alice be there?"
He looks over at me and grins. "Naturally."
"Hmm." I nod slowly, taking in the rows and rows of trees as we pass.
"Something on your mind, Princess?" He asks after a long stretch of uncomfortable silence, which is my fault. I'm sure I'm not hiding how uncomfortable I feel.
"You say it as if you already know." I turn my head to look at him.
"I have some idea."
I sigh deeply before speaking the god's honest truth.
"What is this?" I ask, motioning between us, then the car, then the wide-open ride. I need answers.
"I told you I would take you to a gallery. I meant it."
"Yeah, but you- I mean- this isn't-" I clear my throat and try to make a joke out of my question, but I'm not sure if he takes what I say the way that I meant. "But we're not on a date?"
I lean forward as far as my seatbelt will allow so that I can see his face. He says nothing, but a muscle in his jaw ticks and I know he's upset.
"Or..." I trail off, looking down at my hands as my palms begin to sweat, and I feel a familiar flush spread over my body. We sit in silence for the rest of the ride to our destination and when we pull into a parking spot, he turns off the car. I look over at him to see his head is hung low, and his hand is still resting on the key in the ignition.