Author's Note:
My betas are better than your betas! Jennrosee and blahblahblah!
Disclaimer: Everyone knows they belong to SM.
EPOV
I arrive home from school the next day and, to my surprise, find both Bella and Jacob's cars parked in the driveway. Making my way inside, I'm instantly assaulted by the pounding beats coming from the stereo upstairs. The deafening noise doesn't bother me. The yelling, however, does.
At first, it sounds as if they're just yelling over the music, but as I get closer, I realize they're actually screaming at each other. Cautiously, I make my way to the war zone behind the door, opening it only a crack.
"Shut it, Jake, you don't know what the hell you're talking about!" Bella yells.
"Oh really, you think I was born yesterday? Grow up, Bella!" he shouts, his voice equally frustrated.
Carefully, I stick my head through the open door. Bella is standing in the center of the room, breathing heavily, her hands firmly on her hips and a deep scowl on her face. I have never seen her so angry.
"You are such an asshole!" she yells. I blanch, having never heard her speak that way to anyone before.
"Hey!" I call out over the music, grabbing her attention. "You OK?"
"No!" she spits back at me. "Kill him for me, would ya?"
She turns her back to Jacob and folds her arms across her chest. I look to Jacob, who is leaning against the mirrored wall, his hands tucked behind his back. He gives me a wink and brushes off her threat with slight shake of his head. Clearly, he's up to something.
"Hey, Bells?" he asks calmly.
"What!" Bella's voice is acid, and I'm grateful her fury is not directed at me.
"You pissed at me?"
The boy clearly has a death wish. That's all there is to it.
"What do you think, genius?"
"Good," he deadpans. "Then do it."
Bella's head snaps around to glare at him. After a tense stare down, she huffs and marches to the far corner of the room, pressing her back against the wall. She takes a deep breath and waits for a cue in the music before beginning a charged run across the floor. When she hits the center of the room, she throws her body in the air. Her legs scissor apart, her back leg bending up toward the ceiling and her torso leaning back to meet it. It's as if she is weightless for a fraction of a second, leaping higher than I would think possible. She completes her jump, landing gracefully on both feet, her arms over her head in a typical dance pose.
The room falls silent, everyone frozen in their place. Jacob is the first to erupt in praise. "Oh, my God, Bells! You did it! You nailed it!" He runs to her, scooping her up in a huge bear hug, swinging her around in a circle. Bella looks thrilled but completely shocked, like she can't believe that just happened.
Apparently, she just accomplished some great feat that I clearly don't understand. I laugh, roll my eyes, and shut the door.
Dancers are crazy.
A few hours later, Jacob saunters down the stairs, the strap of his gym bag slung across his chest. He plops down on the far end of the couch and pulls a pair socks and sneakers from his bag. I mute the TV and toss the remote onto the coffee table.
"What was that in there?" I ask.
"Oh, you mean our fight?" He uses his hands to form air quotes around the last word.
"Yeah."
He laughs, focusing his attention on tying his shoes. "No matter how technically we're trained, we dancers are ruled by our emotions. It's an art, an expression, ya know? Sometimes we can use that to an advantage."
"So you're telling me you pissed off my girlfriend - on purpose - so she'd dance better?" I ask skeptically.
"Yup. I wouldn't recommend it though. It can back fire on ya." He chuckles darkly.
"I'll keep that in mind."
Jacob finishes tying his shoes, then leans on his elbow across the couch toward me. "Hey," he whispers, glancing quickly toward the stairs. "Do you know her birthday is tomorrow?"
"No," I say, a mixture of shock and disbelief in my voice.
"Yeah, she didn't tell me either. I only found out because she forgot to renew her license and she asked me to take her to the DMV this afternoon to get it all straight. That's why we rehearsed here and not at the school tonight."
"Well, shit. Why didn't she tell anyone?"
More importantly, why didn't she tell me?
"Hell if I know. I gave up trying to understand women a long time ago. Ha! I guess I should just say I gave up women, but anyway… she said her birthday was never a big deal. I guess when she lived with her dad, they didn't really celebrate it."
Well, I sure as hell wasn't going to let tomorrow go by without marking the occasion.
"Anyway," Jacob continues, "just thought I should give you a heads-up. Bros before hoes, or whatever it is you straight guys say."
I chuckle. "Thanks, Jacob."
Jacob stands up from the couch, slinging the strap of his gym bag across his chest. "Alright, catch you later."
"Yeah, later," I mumble, staring straight ahead but seeing nothing. My mind is working overtime, trying to come up with some sort of plan.
Jacob makes his way to the front door, but before he opens it, I call out. "Jacob?" He turns to face me as I leap over the back of the couch and close the distance between us.
"Are you picking her up in the morning for school?"
He looks confused. "Of course."
"What time does she get done with class?"
"We have studio class until 3:30, but she and I usually stay in the practice studio until six-thirty or seven. Why?"
"Does she have to practice after studio class tomorrow?" I ask. A hint of pleading laces my tone.
Jacob smirks, finally understanding where I'm going with my questions. "No, I guess not. I suppose you'd like me to come up with some lame excuse to cancel on her at the last minute?"
"Please."
"Alright, I'll have her out in front of the school at 3:45."
"I'll be there."
BPOV
The room erupts in applause, just as it does everyday at the close of studio class.
"Great class everyone," Victoria calls out to the ovation. "Good energy today; I want to see more of that tomorrow, alright?"
My classmates meander toward the far wall, chatting excitedly with each other as they gather up their bags and belongings. I remain at the barre, stretching my legs a few more times to ward of the impending cramp that has been threatening for the last twenty minutes. The cramps in my calves have gotten worse over the last few weeks, but I guess it just comes with the territory.
With my feet planted firmly on the floor, I bend forward and wrap my arms around my calves, resting my forehead flush against my knees. I feel the muscles along the back of my legs burn with the stretch, but the spasm in my right calf doesn't let up. I drop my hand to the floor and grip the toes of my right foot with my fingers, tugging my foot toward the ceiling. The added angle increases the tension in my leg and the muscle begins to relax.
"I see what you're doing."
I lift my head slightly off my knees and stare at Jake's feet. Busted.
Slowly, I roll my body up, one vertebra at a time. "My tights were crooked." I wince, feigning innocence.
"Fine, I'll play along, but only because I have a splitting headache. Mind if we take this afternoon off?"
Wow. An entire afternoon off? An afternoon with Edward. Maybe, if I hurry, I can get home before he gets back from school and surprise him.
"Of course not, Jake. I'll just catch the bus back to the Cullens'. You go home and rest."
"Don't be ridiculous, Bells. I'll drive you home. Come on, let's go."
I hurry over to collect my bag from the wall. I tug a pair of pink leg-warmers over my tights and grab my sweatshirt, pulling it over my head as I walk. Pushing through the studio doors, I make my way over to where Jake is waiting for me in the hall. I fling the strap of my bag across my chest before intertwining my fingers with his. Eager to get home, I pull him out the front doors of the school and toward the parking lot.
A group of girls from the intermediate ballet class are gathered at the bottom the concrete steps, and as we pass them, I catch a few wisps of their hushed conversation.
"Oh, my God, that guy is so freaking hot."
"You think maybe his sister goes here?"
"If he has a sister, she's my new best friend."
I follow the path of their stares toward the person in question. At the end of the walkway, a tall boy – er, man, guy – leans against a silver car parked illegally in the fire zone. Khaki pants, sweater vest, nice body - whatever. I want to get home.
I keep walking, leaving Mr. Prep School to be ogled by his adoring fans, and I steer Jake toward his car. He stops abruptly and tugs at my hand. I twist around to look at him, a goofy smile spreading across his lips.
"What?" I ask, annoyed that he's slowing me down.
Jake nods his head toward the street where mister-I'm-too-important-to-park-like-regular-people is still standing. I follow his gaze and give the guy a second look – a real look.
My eyes trail up his khaki pants to the crimson sweater vest covering his white, long-sleeve oxford shirt. The coordinating black and red plaid tie knotted neatly around his neck disappears below the v-neck of his sweater. I notice then the matching school crest decorating the top right portion of his chest. Continuing my trail upward, I make quick work of his face: dark sunglasses, amaretto-colored hair, and square jaw.
"Edward?" I whisper skeptically, and his mouth twists up in a crooked smile.
Edward twists around and reaches his left hand through the open window of his car. When he turns back around, he holds the stem of a single, delicate, purple wildflower in his hand. The group of fan-girls behind me erupts in a collective "awww," and both Edward and Jake chuckle.
I remain frozen in the walkway as Jake wraps his arm around my shoulders. "Happy birthday, Bells," he whispers in my ear before squeezing me gently.
I snap out of my stunned surprise and narrow my eyes at him. "Headache, huh?" Jake shrugs and pushes me gently toward Edward.
"Have fun," he calls.
I stumble my way to Edward. When I'm a few steps from him, he shoves off his car and stands up straight.
"Happy birthday, beautiful," he says, touching the bloom to the tip of my nose before bending down to kiss me softly.
"Edward?" I mutter against his lips after a few minutes.
"Hmm," he answers. My attempt at speaking doesn't deter him from kissing me again.
"What on earth are you wearing?"
He pulls away, glancing down at his chest as if he's forgotten what he has on. "My school uniform. You've never seen it?"
"No." I chuckle. "You're always in jeans or pajama pants by the time I get home."
"Huh, I guess I am." He leans in and tries to kiss me again, but I stop his advances, planting my hand firmly against his chest. He furrows his brow at me.
"What are you doing here?"
An impish smile spreads across his lips. He steps back toward his car and opens the passenger side door. "I'm kidnapping you."
I climb in, tossing my gym bag into the backseat, and Edward closes the door softly. He jogs around the front of the car and flops into the driver's seat. I toy with my flower, smelling its sweet fragrance and brushing the soft petals across my cheek.
"So, where are you taking me?"
"Well," Edward says, glancing over his left shoulder as he pulls his car into the busy Seattle traffic, "I thought, since the weather is nice, and it won't be for much longer, we could check out the Olympic Sculpture Park."
"That sounds like fun, but – um."
"What? You don't like art?" he teases.
"Of course I do. It's just, I'm not really dressed for traipsing around a sculpture garden," I admit, tugging at my sweatshirt to emphasize the point.
Edward reaches behind my seat and produces a large, black duffle bag, dropping it abruptly in my lap. I unzip the bag to discover an assortment of my clothes.
"There must be three days worth of clothes here. You aren't kidnapping me for the entire weekend are you?"
He wiggles his eyebrows at me under his sunglasses. "Now that you mention it, that is an intriguing idea, but sadly, no. We do have to be home in time for dinner. I didn't know what you'd feel like wearing, so I brought a few things I know you like."
From the bag, I lift a tiny, black thong. I only wore it once under an evening gown for the Phoenix Ballet Christmas Gala. I dangle it from my finger and stare, pretending to be annoyed.
"OK, so I brought a few things I like too."
I stretch the thong back with my other hand and fling it at his head like a rubber band. "Geez, I'm driving here, woman!" he scolds with a laugh. I return my attention to survey the items in the bag. Burrowing to the bottom, I discover Edward's standard black t-shirt and worn out jeans.
"Oh, no, no, no," I chant, pulling his clothes from the bag and tossing them into the back seat.
"What? Those are mine," he rebukes me.
"No way. You are not changing out of that." I gesture toward his chest.
"My uniform. Why?"
"Because it's hot and because I've never seen you so… preppy."
"You think preppy is hot?" Edward's voice is flat.
"No, not usually, but on you – yeah, it's hot."
"Bella, do you have some kind of naughty Catholic school-boy fantasy I need to know about?"
"I do now," I tease.
Edward pulls the car to a stop at a red light, and I unbuckle my seatbelt. Squeezing through the small space between my seat and his, I climb into the backseat.
"What are you doing?" he asks and smacks my butt as it passes inches from his face.
"Changing clothes. Eyes on the road, bud."
He whips back around just as the light turns green. "Just watch where you step back there."
I look down, noticing the package hidden behind my seat. A cube-shaped box wrapped in shiny white paper and bright green ribbon rests on the floor.
"Um, Edward, what's that?" I ask, pretending to be coy.
"It's a birthday present for my nosey girlfriend. Don't touch it."
I snake my hands around his chest, sandwiching the back of his seat between my body and his as I kiss his cheek. "You are so adorable," I whisper in his ear.
"What did I tell you about calling me that? And for God sakes, put your seatbelt on."
I flop back in my seat with a giggle and do as I'm told. Rummaging through the bag, I pull out a pair of skinny jeans and my favorite gray and white striped Dolman-sleeve shirt. Edward even thought to pack my silver flats, sunglasses, and my small leather purse. I skillful strip down, careful not to give the other drivers – or mine – a free show. Several times, I catch Edward watching me in his rearview mirror and my resulting glare does little to deter him.
"This would be easier without the seatbelt," I mutter to myself.
"The seatbelt is non-negotiable. You could just wait till we stop, ya know. Then I could help you." I scowl at his reflection again.
We reach the parking garage before I have a chance to climb back into the front seat. Edward hops out of the car and opens the back door, offering his hand as if he's a chauffeur. Once he pulls me from the car, he ducks back inside and retrieves the present from the floorboard. He places the package gently on the roof of the car with one hand while roughly un-tucking his shirt with the other, allowing the wrinkled tails to hang down under his vest.
"Don't worry, I'm not changing," he admits when he catches me watching him. "But only because it's your birthday. But you gotta cut me some slack. I've been shackled like this all day."
He finishes pulling his shirt from his pants and goes to work on his sleeves, unbuttoning the cuffs and rolling them half-way up his forearms. He loosens his tie slightly and unbuttons the top button of his collar. Once he's finished, he holds his arms open, his face challenging me to examine his alterations for approval. I pretend to appraise him for a second, tapping my finger against my chin as I scrutinize his appearance, before I launch myself into his open arms. He catches me, wrapping his hands around my waist as he laughs.
We stand there, holding each other for a long moment after his laughter fades. "Hi," he whispers, pressing his lips to my forehead.
"Hi," I respond, my voice muffled by his shirt. I'm not ready to let go yet, and I cling to his neck.
"Bella, can I ask you something?"
"You can ask me anything."
"How old are you?"
I pretend to be put off. "OK, anything but that."
"Bella?" he warns.
"I'm eighteen."
Edward pulls back to look at me. "As in, you are turning eighteen today?"
I snicker, "Yes, Edward. I was seventeen yesterday and today I'm eighteen. If you want to get technical about it, I guess I won't really be eighteen until seven-thirty tonight. That's when I was born - September 13, 7:30 p.m. I think it was a Tuesday. George Bush Senior was president. It may have been raining at the time; I can check."
"So what you're telling me is you've been jail bait the whole time I've known you." He's teasing, of course, but his joking expression doesn't quite meet his eyes.
"Well, how old are you?" I challenge.
"I turned eighteen this past summer, hence the jail bait." He widens his eyes at me as he emphasizes the phrase. OK, now I'm pretty sure he's serious.
"Oh lighten up, Edward. I don't know what the age of consent is here in Washington, but in most places it's sixteen. What does it matter anyway? I'm eighteen now. You're free and clear to do whatever you want to me." I regret the choice of words as soon as speak them, and I slap my hand across my mouth, feeling my cheeks flush under my fingers.
Edward's stressed expression slowly morphs in amusement. "Is that so?" He chuckles.
Still holding my hand over my mouth, I shake my head.
He nods his head – yes – as a menacing expression creeps across his face.
I slowly back away from him, feeling like prey under the scrutiny of a predator. He lunges toward me, but I duck out of his grasp, giggling and squealing like a child as I dash across the parking garage. I make it to the stairs, taking them two at a time until I reach the ground level. I can hear Edward's footsteps a few inches behind me, clearly allowing me to win this little race.
I sprint into the sunlight as the gray, concrete stairwell gives way to a asphalt walking path. I slow down, allowing Edward to easily catch me. He wraps one arm around my waist and pulls me back against his chest, lifting me off the ground as I squeal in delight. Several people turn to stare at our childish display, but I couldn't care less as Edward laughs happily in my ear.
Edward sets me down carefully on my feet. "Whoa! What's that?" I ask, pointing to a large, red, thing, towering over the skyline of the park. I start to walk toward it, but Edward captures my hand and pulls me in the other direction.
"Hold up," he says, leading me toward a black, iron bench nestled under some shady trees. I notice the present tucked like a football under his other arm.
We sit down on the bench, our knees touching, and Edward places the package gently in my lap. "Happy birthday."
"You didn't have to get me anything. Just spending time with you is present enough."
"Oh, hush. I kinda like giving you things. It worked out so well with the dresser drawer."
"Edward!" I yell, mortified that he brought that particular evening up. I had never done anything like that before – ever – alone, or with someone else.
"I'm teasing," he says with a sneer. "I wanted to get this for you. I just hope you like it. Now, open it so we can go look at some art and stuff."
Leaning forward, I kiss him quickly before turning my attention to the box in my lap. I slide the bow off easily and rip through the paper, exposing the black cardboard box inside, the Nikon logo printed in silver across the top.
"You got me a digital camera!" I screech excitedly.
"You don't have one already do you?" he asks nervously. "I never saw one in your room or anything."
I stare at him in disbelief. "No I don't, but, Edward, this is – it's too much."
"No it's not," he says as he takes the box from me and opens the lid. "I mean, it's not top of the line or anything, but I just thought it would be nice for you to, you know, have some photos of your time here."
He doesn't look at me as he begins to pull cables and instruction manuals out of the box, but I can hear the discontent in his voice as he acknowledges, for the first time, that our days together are limited. Honestly, I hadn't really thought about what will happen after I graduate. Sure, I know what my goals are, but nothing is set in stone yet. Unfortunately, I do know that the chances of me staying in Seattle once my scholarship is fulfilled are slim-to-none.
A thousand questions begin to swirl in my head at the same time: What does that mean for us? Would Edward consider applying to some colleges near where I'm working? Assuming, of course, he even wants to come with me. Is it too early to ask him? We've only been dating two months. We could get an apartment together, maybe?
"And I thought," he continues, interrupting my internal panic attack, "that you might like to email your parents some photos from time to time. You know, let them see what you're up to."
He pulls a silver camera from the box and sets it in his lap, haphazardly repacking all the cables and booklets before setting the box on the other side of the bench. He scoots over, his thigh flush with mine, and holds the camera between us.
"OK, I already charged the battery. To turn it on, you just press th-"
I stop his mouth with mine, wrapping my hand tightly around the back of his neck. Once he recovers from the initial shock of my attack, he kisses me back. At some point, the camera disappears and he tangles his hands in my hair. Before we get too heated, I reluctantly pull away, resting my forehead against his.
"So I take it you like your gift then?"
I laugh. "Yes, Edward, I love it. Thank you."
"You're welcome. You ready to try it out? Or we could stay right here and …" He kisses me again.
I pull away again and disentangle myself from his grasp. Standing up, I reach out for his hand and pull him off the bench. "I want to see that big red thing over there."
"Alright then, birthday girl, let's go."
We walk through the park from one sculpture to the next as Edward shows me how to work my new camera. Before long, I'm snapping pictures like a professional. The grounds of the park are so beautiful that I take just as many photos of the landscape as the artwork. A few times I turn the camera on Edward, capturing candid shots of him when he's not looking. Once I'm discovered, he snatches the camera and quickly snaps three or four pictures of me. An elderly couple approaches us just as I wrestle the camera away from him and offers to take a photo of us together. We pose with our arms wrapped around each other next to a beautiful curved steel sculpture.
We spend the afternoon strolling from one display to the next, taking turns reading the inscriptions about the artists' creations and offering our opinions on the pieces as we study them. Some are strange, some are beautiful, some need no explanation, while others make no sense at all.
We follow the path around a sharp corner and stop before a large fountain. I feel Edward tense slightly at my side as we watch the water rise and fall around two steel figures. It's my turn to read the bronze plaque, but instead of leading me toward the podium, Edward releases my hand and shoves his fists in his pockets, his eyes never moving from the sculpture in front of us.
I take two steps forward, alone, and read the dedication aloud. "Father and Son by Louise Bourgeois. Stainless steel, aluminum, water and bronze bell. Gift of the estate of Stu Smailes in 2006. Internationally acclaimed artist Louise Bourgeois created Father and Son especially for the Olympic Sculpture Park. Surrealism, a strong influence on Bourgeois' early work and its psychological themes, informs this fountain, her first permanent project sited on the West Coast. As the fountain's water rises and falls, first the father, then the son, are engulfed in water and separated. Bourgeois' representation of father and son portrays a vulnerable and poignant situation, as the two face each other with arms outstretched, striving to overcome a seemingly insurmountable divide."
I look up, feeling the mist of the cool water tickle my face as the fountain surges and retreats. I turn around slowly, knowing the imagery of this sculpture must be impacting Edward. Naturally, he must be projecting himself into this piece, but whether the 'insurmountable divide' is the death of his own father, or the rift between himself and Carlisle, I can't tell. He stands, perfectly still, staring at the taller figure with an unreadable expression on his face.
Surely he misses his true father. I knew his parents were killed when he was very young, but he never talked about them with me before. Come to think of it, he never talks about his adoptive parents to me either, outside of our agreement to keep our relationship hidden from them. I know something is going on between him and Carlisle, but things seem to be better lately. I remember those first few nights, when the tension between the two of them was thick enough to cut. But in the last three or four weeks, their demeanor towards one another has definitely improved.
Returning to his side, I slide my hand down his arm and tug at his wrist until he removes his hand from his pocket. I stare down at his hand as I wrap mine around it, unsure what I should say.
Edward turns his body toward me, raising my chin with his free hand. He studies my eyes for a second, showing me the storm brewing in his in return, before kissing me once gently. He pulls me to him, wrapping his arms around my back and holding me against his chest.
"Tell me," I say softly, leaving my request open-ended on purpose.
He sighs and rests his cheek against the top of my head. "Not today," he says. "I promise I will, just not today."
We continue to watch the fountain toss streams of water into the air for a few minutes before Edward releases his grip on my body.
"Come on," he says, taking my hand again and tugging me down the walking path.
Father and Son is the only sculpture I exclude from my camera.
EPOV
Two Months Later
I make my way upstairs, looking for Bella, and am not surprised when I find her in her studio. With one leg propped on the top rung of her barre, she bends and stretches, working through a warm-up routine I have seen her do a thousand times. I lean against the doorway, my arms folded over my chest, quietly watching her dance. Her movements are poised and graceful and, once again, I revel in the fact that the most beautiful creature I have ever seen is mine. After several minutes, Bella finally notices my presence.
"What are you doing?" she asks cheerfully, as she continues her routine.
"Just watching you," I muse.
"You must be pretty bored then, huh?"
"There's nowhere I'd rather be."
She smiles at my blatant attempt to flirt, and I continue to watch her from my perch in the doorway. Bella moves around the barre, switching legs and repeating her movement, stretching the other side. "I want to talk to you about something," she says.
She sounds serious, and it makes me a little nervous for what's about to follow.
"OK." I prompt.
Bella lets out a deep breath, not easing my fears in the least. "I have a break coming up from school for Thanksgiving. We get the whole week off."
"So do we."
"Right, well, I was thinking I would spend my break in Florida, with my mom."
She's leaving. For a week. A whole freaking week. Over the last four months, we have hardly spent a day apart, and now she's planning on going completely across the country for seven whole days.
"I think that's a great idea," I say aloud, trying to sound convincing.
She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. Maybe that wasn't the response she wanted.
"I - I want you to come with me," she says quickly.
"Oh."
I try to conceal the delighted expression on my face by looking at the floor. For a moment, I entertain the idea of Bella and me spending an entire, uninterrupted, week together. No school, no rehearsals, no Carlisle.
Carlisle.
I shove off of the doorframe and enter the room, closing the door behind me. Leaning against it, I slide down, sitting with my back against the door and my knees pulled up in front of me.
"Bella," I begin, "as much as I dislike the idea of being away from you, I don't think that would be a good idea."
"But I want you to meet my mom, and Charlie, eventually."
I can't help but smile. No girl has ever taken me home to meet her parents. I shake my head and twist my hands together nervously in front of me. "I just don't see how it would work. Carlisle would get suspicious."
"But they know," she argues, dropping her leg from the steel barre and turning to face me.
"Esme does. Carlisle doesn't. And I plan on keeping it that way - for now."
"But, why?"
This is the last conversation I want to have right now. I know I promised to tell her everything, but I'm still not ready. No, it's not that I'm not ready; I'm terrified. I know I'm being selfish, but I just want a little more time. More time to figure out how to broach the subject of my past and explain it in a way she'll understand. More time to map out our future, that is, if she'll still allow me to be part of it. More time to just be with her as everyday is one step closer to the end of her time here.
"Esme is more open-minded about us. Carlisle is going to take a bit more convincing before he'll be willing to accept this." I gesture between us.
"But why would Esme help us keep it a secret from Carlisle?"
"Because she thinks you're good for me."
I hope, in vain, that my lame compliment would end her barrage of questioning.
Bella smiles briefly, but huffs and rolls her eyes. "Then that's all the more reason for us to tell him. With Esme on our side, we could easily convince him that –"
"Because Carlisle told me to stay away from you!" I snap, my voice cold and angry. Bella visibly recoils at my harsh tone, as if I've frightened her. Instantly, I regret speaking to her that way. Dropping my head into my hands, I stare at the floor between my feet. "I'm sorry," I grumble to the ground. We are both silent for several long minutes. I keep my head down, not having the balls to look at the hurt expression I'm sure is on her face.
"So," Bella begins softly, "when you said we shouldn't tell them about us because we were living under their roof, that wasn't the whole truth, was it?"
I still don't look up as I shake my head.
"Are you going to tell me the real reason? Why Carlisle would be against us being together?" She is getting angry. I can hear it in her voice.
I lift my head, slamming it in to the door behind me with a thud. I still can't look at her, and divert my eyes to the ceiling. I don't know how to form the words, to explain it so she'll understand. So she won't be disgusted with me. So she won't leave me.
Apparently, I'm silent for too long. Before I can open my mouth, Bella huffs, "I didn't think so." She turns and storms out onto the balcony, as I'm blocking the other exit.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
I follow after her but she's gone, likely returned to her bedroom through the balcony doors.
I knock gently. "Bella?" I wait. "Bella, please." There is no sound from inside. After several frustrating minutes, I give up and return to my room.
BPOV
I have never understood the expression "so angry I was seeing red" until this moment. I storm out of the dance studio, leaving Edward cowering on the floor, and lock myself in my room.
At least he chased after me. That had to mean something, right? But I'm too angry to talk to him right now. Instead, I pace, irate and furious, around my room.
He's been lying to me this entire time! He's been keeping this secret from me, that Carlisle has expressly forbidden us from being together. And, in addition to him blatantly going behind Carlisle's back, he's drug me into deceiving his parents with him. I know I willingly agreed to keep our relationship quiet when Edward suggested it in the beginning, but the fact that the topic has come up, that it's been discussed, and he made the decision that he would – no, that we would - deliberately continue to lie and mislead them, pisses me off.
And who the hell does Carlisle think he is! Trying to tell me who I can and cannot date! He's not my father! Charlie wouldn't even do that to me. Not that I ever dated anyone long enough for Charlie to even be aware, but that's not the point!
I sit down on my bed in a huff, trying to process any bit of information I have that makes this make sense.
I don't understand. What's so wrong with me that Carlisle would tell Edward to stay away? I thought Carlisle liked me? He always treats me like I'm one of his own children. I was even starting to think he might even like me more than Rosalie.
Rosalie.
I start comparing myself to Rosalie – beautiful, porcelain Rosalie - Mr. and Mrs. Hale's only daughter. Rosalie is the only debutant I have ever met. Mr. Hale is a successful investment banker and Mrs. Hale is what Esme referred to as a "kept woman," meaning she doesn't do anything but spend her husband's money. Rosalie was educated in the finest private schools, born and bred to be a proper young woman in high society. She'd be the perfect wife for a successful, high-profile, surgeon's son.
And who am I? I've never set foot in a private school in my life. My parents had to scrape and save every penny they earned to make ends meet. And now, here I am - Carlisle's little charity case. He must be so disgusted with me, mooching off his generosity while I amuse myself with my silly, childish dreams of becoming a dancer. Of course he doesn't want me anywhere near his son. I'm not good enough for him or his family.
I lie back on my pillows, trying to fight back the lump in my throat. This is ridiculous. Carlisle isn't like that. He would never belittle someone just because they didn't have as much money as he does. It's stupid of me to even think such things, and I know it.
My phone vibrates on my nightstand with an incoming text.
Bella, please talk to me. ~ E
I shut off the phone and lie back down.
After a moment, I turn the phone back on and do what any girl in my position would do – I call my best friend.
"Hey, this is Jake. Leave a message." I hang up and wait about five minutes before trying him again. This time, when his voicemail picks up, I decide I better leave a message. If he sees two missed calls from me, and no message, he might think something's wrong.
"Hey, it's me. I just, um, well... never mind. It's nothing. I'll talk to you tomorrow."
I roll off my bed and pace around my room again, anxiously tapping my phone against my leg. With a resigned sigh, I dial my second choice.
"Hey, mom," I say, trying to keep my voice cheerful.
"Bella, what's wrong?"
I snicker. I haven't fooled her at all. I launch into my story, telling her everything. Well, the 'PG' version of everything. She doesn't need all the gory details.
I tell her about Edward: how we met, how he avoided me when he thought I was with Jake, and that we have been practically inseparable ever since. I tell her that he's sweet and kind and that he takes care of me - everything up to my storming out on him thirty minutes ago.
Renee listens intently, never interrupting my obvious need to get it all off my chest. I tell her how we agreed to conceal our relationship from his parents, citing Edward's 'we live under their roof' excuse. I even tell her about my irrational thoughts as to why Carlisle would want Edward to stay away from me.
"Bella, that's ridiculous. I've known Carlisle just as long as your father has; he would never treat someone like that just because they didn't have money."
"I know, mom. I was angry and it was stupid of me to even think it."
"That's right. Now you just wipe that absurd notion right out of your head. Carlisle is a wonderful, caring person. Just look at everything he has done for you."
"I know, I know. I'm sorry. I know Carlisle doesn't really feel that way about me, but it doesn't make it any less true. Edward lives in a world where I don't. The Cullens are a beautiful, successful, high-society family. I'm just a commoner playing pretty-pretty-princess in their real life castle."
"Isabella Swan, what has gotten into you?" she scolds.
"I don't know." I throw myself down on the bed as I whine into the phone. "I just don't understand it. And Edward won't tell me. Why would Carlisle forbid us from being together?"
"I don't know. It sounds like you and Edward have a good thing going there. I'm not too crazy about you living right down the hall from each other, but you're eighteen now so I guess I'll have to get used to treating you like an adult. You are being… safe?"
This is why I called Jake first.
I roll my eyes, although she can't see it. I'm sure my tone gives me away. "Mom, you know what my doctors said about that. I haven't had a period in over a year."
"Are you serious? Bella, that's not good. You're not eating enough and you're working too hard. You need to-"
I cut her off, "Mom, I know all this. Please, can we not talk about this right now?"
Renee breaths a long sigh into the phone, clearly unhappy about abandoning this topic. "All right, all right," she concedes.
"Mom, Esme knows, about me and Edward, I mean. And she's been keeping our secret from Carlisle too. I don't understand why she would do that. Why would she help her son keep something from her husband that he expressly forbade?"
"I'm not sure, sweetie. Have you thought about asking Esme? Or even Carlisle?"
"No. I mean, I don't want to talk to his parents behind his back." Though it seems that's exactly what he did to me.
"Well, maybe the four of you could sit down together and talk over a nice dinner or something. I'm sure if you and Edward are able to explain …"
My mother's voice fades into the background as the memory of dinner with Carlisle and Esme after my orientation slams into my mind. The way Carlisle glared at Edward when he touched my arm, the way his eyes narrowed when he learned we had lunch together the day before, his harsh tone when Edward offered to drive me home; it was all starting to make sense now. Edward has been intentionally going against Carlisle's wishes the entire time I've known him.
My God, was I the reason for all the tension between Carlisle and Edward? Was it my fault? Was I the cause of the rift between Edward and his father?
"Bella? Are you still there?"
"Oh, no," I groan.
"Bella? Sweetie? What is it? What's wrong?"
I tell my mother the entire story of that night, describing in great detail every glower, every harsh word, every irritate expression Carlisle hurled at Edward. I go on to explain how Carlisle and Edward barely speak to each other now, and when they do, the exchange is always tense and hostile.
"Although, it has been getting better lately," I admit. "At least, it seems like now when they're in the same room with each other they're not as hostile as they used to be." I roll over onto my side and pull my knees into my chest, curling up into a ball. "Mom, what am I supposed to do? What if they're fighting because of me?" My voice cracks as a single tear slides down the side of my nose.
"Oh, sweetie, it will work out. You'll see. Maybe give him some time. This might be something he needs to work out with his father on his own. It could have nothing to do with you."
I want to scream that it has everything to do with me. That Edward is my world. That I'm not complete without him. But I don't say any of that. Instead, I exhale noisily into the phone.
"I know this is hard," my mother continues, "and I know you're upset and frustrated, and I wish I had all the answers, but, sweetie, you're going to have to talk to Edward. It's not doing you any good to sit around and speculate as to what you think is going on."
I close my eyes and wipe my damp cheek with the sleeve of my sweatshirt. "I know. You're right. I'm just getting myself worked up, and it will probably turn out to be nothing." Or it could be worse than any of my unfounded theories.
"So you'll talk to him then? Give him a chance to explain?"
"Yes, mom. I will." Even I can hear the heavy reluctance in my voice.
We talk for another ten minutes, and Renee tries to cheer me up, discussing plans for my upcoming visit - which I will be making alone, apparently. I say goodbye, promising to call as soon as I have my flight numbers and arrival times for my trip.
I disconnect the call and check my messages. Jake hasn't called back, but I have two missed texts, both from Edward.
10:48 p.m. - Bella, please talk to me.
11:25 p.m. - I'm sorry.
I check the clock. 12:38 a.m. He's likely already asleep, so I don't bother to reply.
Although my anger has dissipated, I'm not feeling any better than I did before I called my mother. My initial fury is now overshadowed by a deep sense of hopelessness. Whatever the real reason behind Carlisle's demand, Edward felt it was bad enough to hide from me. Bad enough that he felt the need to lie to me – for months.
Feeling thoroughly and utterly depressed, I grab my iPod and shuffle through my playlists to the one entitled Emo Songs, an entire collection of unhappy, despondent, melancholy songs that fed right in with my mood. I know I shouldn't listen to this crap when I'm already feeling down, as it's just going to make me feel worse. But sometimes, like right now, I have to drown in my gloom before I can surface again.
I turn off the lamp, allowing only the light of the moon to illuminate my room. I try to block out my surroundings as I sink into the lyrics of the music echoing in my ears. Unconsciously, I begin to sway to the beat, softly moving my feet from side to side with the rhythm. Before I realize it, I've given myself over to the music, and my emotions, and I bend and twirl in the tiny space between my bed and the balcony doors. There isn't enough space to get it all out. I need to get out of this room.
I tip-toe down the hall and enter the studio, closing the door softly behind me. Leaving the lights off, I once again allow the light of the moon, flooding through the open balcony doors, to illuminate the room. My gym bag sits against the wall, and I rummage through the side pocket until I find the armband I use when I run. Strapping my iPod firmly to my bicep, I snake the long, white cord behind my back to keep it from tangling around my arms while I move.
My sad playlist continues. In my ears, one depressing song ends and another equally gloomy song begins. I move slowly around the room, my dance resembling something more like yoga stretches than modern choreography. I have no conscious thought as to how I'm moving or what step will come next. My body just flows along with the lyrics and cadence of the music.
I lose track of how long I've been in here and how long I've been dancing. The songs run together, one on top of the other, as I try to push away the hurt, and frustration, and stress from tonight.
It's not working.
I continue to stare at myself in the mirror, my movements slowing as the weight of my emotions press down on me. I position myself to pirouette, intending to land an easy triple, but instead I allow my body to spin around and around and around, as much my momentum will allow, until I lose my balance and crumple to the floor.
I stare down at the golden wood planks beneath my hands, my breathing heavy, my heart pounding, my mind racing. I push myself up and slowly shift my weight until I'm sitting, pulling my knees into my chest and wrapping my arms around them. Resting my head in the space between my arms, I effectively curl into a ball, shutting the world out as I begin to cry.
I feel two hands gently grip my arms and I jerk my head up with a start. Edward is squatting in front of me, a desolate expression on his face. He's probably been here this entire time, watching me attempt to battle through my distress on my own. And from the look in his eyes, he's suffering just as much as I am. He studies my face for a moment, his eyes shifting back and forth quickly as he searches mine.
Cautiously, he lets go of my right arm and brushes my cheek with his fingers, wiping away my tears. I observe him, watching as his mood and his posture slowly shifts to one of resignation. Reluctantly, he releases his grip on my arms and rocks back, sitting on his heels and casting his eyes down to the floor.
He would tell me. All I have to do is remove my headphones, open my mouth, ask the question, and he would tell me. It's that simple. But judging by the haunting torture in his expression, what he would say would be bad.
It would hurt.
It would change things.
Was I ready for that? Could I handle that?
I let out a deep breath and, without saying a word, stand up. Edward doesn't move, probably thinking I'm about to storm out on him again. Carefully, I step closer and run my hand through his hair. He raises his head and looks up at me, the tormented expression remaining on his face. I smile meekly, an attempt to tell him that we'll be OK, and his returning weak smile says the same.
He rocks forward, falling onto his knees and wrapping his hands around my lower back. Pulling me to him, he hugs me tightly, his cheek pressing against my stomach. I continue to run my fingers through his hair, using my other hand to quickly brush away the fresh tears before they have a chance to fall.
I'm the first to pull away, reaching behind and disentangling his fingers from my back. I grip his hands tightly and pull him up from the floor. He stands, towering over my petite frame, his hands still firmly in mine. I turn, without letting go, and lead him back to my room.
Removing my headphones from my ears, I coil them around my iPod and place it on the nightstand. Edward hovers at the foot of my bed, seemingly unsure as to what he should do. I walk to him, his eyes studying my every move, and take his hand again. Pulling him along, I crawl into my bed and he follows. I turn my back to him, molding myself into his chest as I wrap his arm around me. I can feel his face press against my shoulder blade.
"Don't lie to me. Ever again," I say softly.
"I'm sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing by -"
"Edward," I cut him off, "I don't want to talk about it right now." I feel him stiffen slightly behind me as he becomes silent again.
After a tense moment, he kisses my shoulder gently. "I am sorry for not being honest with you. For everything," he mumbles.
Edward pulls me tighter into his chest as if he would never let me go. Neither of us fall asleep right away, but Edward seems to relax more and more as the minutes pass. His arm draped over my body slowly becomes heavier until, finally, his breathing evens out and he's asleep.
I twist around in his arms, rolling my body over to face him, and watch his peaceful face as he sleeps. Tomorrow, I promise myself. I will work up the courage to ask him tomorrow.
Snaking my arm under his, I wrap it around his chest and nuzzle my head under his chin. I inhale deeply, feeling safe and warm and right where I should be.
Author's Note:
So I have to share this story with you: I came up with the idea that I wanted to acknowledge Bella's birthday (basically to say its September now in the timelime) so I thought Edward should take her out somewhere. Having never been to Seattle myself, I Googled tourist attractions in the area and and found the Sculpture Park. Next, I started writing the scene: the surprise at the school, the camera, etc. Then I thought - ok, they need to stop and discuss a piece of art - so I pulled up the park website and started flipping through the pics of the sculptures. (Remember, this was AFTER I wrote the whole outing.) That's when I found "Father and Son". I freaked! It's so perfect! How crazy is that?
Link to Pic of Father and Son on my profile.
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