a/n: Okay, I know I'm all kinds of epic FAIL for not updating sooner, but it's nice and long for you lovely people. This was a very hard chapter to write.
My beta Viola Cornuta is all kinds of epic WIN, and I'm a self-conscious mental patient without her. With her I'm a normal/bordering on confident mental patient.
The poem referenced, again, is American Rhapsody (4) by Kenneth Fearing.
Disclaimer: I own some fabulous recipes, you'll see, but not these characters. As usual I'm willing to trade. Stephenie? Stephenie?
EPOV
I watched the scalding water flow out of the faucet onto my skin. It washed away the sticky physical evidence of my shame, my guilt, my disgust, and in its place it left angry pink welts. My eyes swam with tears as I watched the skin inflame. For a moment, the scorching heat graciously took the place of my swirling stomach, but it didn't last long. I turned the faucet off. I dried my hands, and reached down to tuck myself back into my pants. Wincing with unexpected pain, I realized I had rubbed myself raw. Good. I deserved the injury. It would serve as an insufficient reminder of just how horribly disturbed I really was.
Why couldn't I just let her kiss me?
I inadvertently caught my eye in the mirror, and couldn't look away. My mirror image became blurry as I pushed my tongue out over my parched lips. I could taste her on me still. She tasted just like she smelled, fresh and clean, sweet and pure. My mind and heart started racing.
I had attacked her. She tried to kiss me, and I pinned her to a wall and shoved my tongue in her mouth and pushed my dick into her stomach and . . . and I attacked her. Thankfully the elevator doors had opened, to summon me out of my frenzy. Otherwise, I don't know what I would have done to her, or what would have stopped me. I had escaped, but I couldn't escape myself. Her taste flooded my head with all of the same feelings I had as I shoved her into the wall. My stomach clenched uncomfortably.
I'd been frenetic with the need to have her, devour her. I wanted to consume her, absorb her, take everything she had, bleed it from her, leave her hollow, empty; leave her nothing. I'd pumped myself savagely; I'd come violently to thoughts of stealing all of her.
I felt a horrible swell in my abdomen, which pushed up through my chest. My lungs constricted, my heart thumped. There was no space left inside my ribs; my stomach felt as if it were vacating my body. I spun quickly to kneel at my toilet.
My disgust, my shame, my deviance, they all disgorged from me in a brutal heave. Immediately, I felt pleasantly empty. Could it be this simple; had the feelings purged along with my breakfast?
Before I wanted it, I had the answer. My stomach was a vacant, grumbling pit, but again my mind was pregnant with agonizing thoughts, images, desires.
I walked out to my piano and sat down. My fingers came down to rest on the keys. Nothingness eddied through my head, already surfeit with self-loathing. I couldn't bring myself to depress the keys. Not even to discover the discordant sound echoing just beyond my ears. I slowly fell forward as my forehead thudded against the glossy black veneer.
I'd never felt so lost in my life. I couldn't even bring myself to play a piece I knew. I couldn't plunk a single key.
I stayed frozen against the cold lacquer forever. Or for minutes. I couldn't be sure. A dolorous sigh abandoned my lungs, leaving a breath-hitching ache behind. A glacial chill sent violent shivers through my body. My muscles tensed and cramped. I didn't know what I was going to do to fix this.
I didn't believe I could stop seeing her without permanent mental derangement.
I didn't believe I could keep seeing her without permanent mental derangement.
I moped around aimlessly, miserably. I wracked my brain, dug my fingers into my thighs. I remembered her pressed against me, her delicious breath, supple lips, plush skin. I pulled my hair in frustration. Distraction, I needed distraction. Nothing in my apartment had any chance of holding my attention while corporeal memories of Bella careened through my head.
In an act of desperation, I did something very unlike me. I picked up my phone and called Jasper.
"Hello?" His usually relaxed voice sounded suspicious and concerned.
"Jasper, hey," I spoke with relief into the phone.
"Edward? Are you okay? You never call me." True, but his severe disbelief rankled a bit. "Usually I have to force you just to talk to me."
"I'm really not okay. I, I . . ." I began but had no idea how to continue.
"Alright." He said seriously and quietly paused for a moment. "Alright, I'm coming over. I'll be there in ten."
"No, wait, Jas, you don't need to come over. Please don't come over," I begged him. I couldn't fathom him seeing me this way. He would know I'd lost my mind.
"See ya in a few, Edward." He ignored me and hung up. I groaned peevishly. This was why I didn't call people. My brain was so damaged; I was making some hideously bad decisions.
As promised, Jasper knocked on my door a few minutes later. I didn't move from my seat at the piano. He knocked again. I sat. My phone started to ring. I ignored it. He pounded. I cringed. Then I heard the door unlock, and Jasper walked into my living room. I gave him an incredulous look.
"What?" He shrugged innocently. "I have a key."
"I seem to remember giving it to you for when I'm not here." I scowled at him. "I seem to remember telling you not to use it when I'm home," I seethed.
"Edward, you called me. You said it yourself; you are not okay." Typical Jasper. In his mind it was a completely valid explanation.
"I know," I muttered.
"What's goin' on, man? You look like shit." Even though he intruded and insulted, I couldn't ignore the authentic concern in his eyes.
I let out an elongated breath. I didn't know what to tell him.
"There's this girl, woman . . . Bella . . ." I told him about how beautiful she was, how I'd wanted to talk to her for months, how she had kissed me, how I panicked. I glossed over the details about seeking her out, masturbating to images of her constantly, attacking her when she kissed me. Jasper wasn't dense; he was too perceptive for my own good, and he knew me better than anyone.
He watched me carefully. I could tell that he picked up so much more than I told him. When I was done, he pursed his lips together pensively. Wheels turned, and I knew he was trying to decide which direction he wanted to take this conversation, how much he wanted to draw out of me. I held my breath. Jasper saw too much; I'd be lucky if he didn't try to commit me.
"You look really pale, Edward. Have you eaten anything today?" Yeah, breakfast, oh, and then I retched it back up after attacking Bella in the elevator and rubbing my dick raw to the memories of her touch and her sounds and, oh God . . .
"No." It was the simpler answer.
"Okay. First things first. I need to get you fed and then distract you from yourself." His look said 'I know that's why you called me. Desperation.' Then a bright smile cracked his face, "Remember that little place I told you I wanted to try the other day?"
I nodded mutely. I remembered, but I hadn't heard anything about the restaurant I might recall now. Unfortunately, I clearly recalled agreeing to go there whenever he wanted.
"Perfect. You need sustenance, and, from what I hear, the place is good enough to preoccupy you." He seemed very pleased with his solution. I wanted to grumble about having to go somewhere, but I appreciated him letting my crazy lie sleeping. If we didn't find him a diversion too, he'd start asking questions I wouldn't want to answer. His response to my revelations could easily be a three-day involuntary psychiatric hold, with paper slippers and an IV pole.
"Okay, I'm going to change my clothes really quick," I yielded and walked towards my bedroom.
From behind me I heard a soft chuckle and a breathed, "Damn, Edward, you never give in that easily. You must be fucked."
Pulling my shirt off, I ignored him and looked for something comfortable to wear. "How nice is this place?" I called out to Jas as I stared at my closet.
"Casual. I think jeans and T-shirts are cool. You never look like a complete hobo."
"Thanks," I sneered. I pulled a nice dark gray T-shirt on and layered a black button down over it. I left the buttons open and cuffed the sleeves up my forearm. The dark jeans I had on were decent looking so I decided not to change them. I put on my Adidas, and trudged out to Jasper.
"I'm glad to see you lookin' so excited to hang out with me. It's such a change from your normal mopey, antisocial self," he enthused falsely with a goofy, toothy grin.
I cracked a smile, "Yeah, yeah, asshole. Let's go."
Jasper stared at me in shock for at least a whole minute after I asked him to drive. I just wasn't in the mood, and I didn't know where we were going. We rode companionably in silence, listening to his iPod. I started to feel calmer, more centered, as we rode, and I was reluctantly relieved he forced me to go out with him. He was right; this was a good distraction. After about ten minutes in the car, Jasper looked over at me with a friendly smile.
"From what I've heard this is your kinda place. Casual atmosphere, great menu, and for me, a vast beer selection," I could tell he was trying to talk me into enjoying myself, so I smiled back.
"How'd you hear about it again?" I was curious how solid his recommendation was.
"Oh, well it's kinda odd. I met the owner at a cocktail party; Emmett's a funny guy. Usually I wouldn't put much stock in someone's recommendation of his own place, but for some reason, I knew he wasn't all hype. I never got to meet his wife, but they run it together." Emmett. Strange name. Not very common. Oh shit.
"Jas, What's this place called?" I asked, feeling my horror contort my face. He didn't need to answer. He'd just stopped his car, and he pointed up to the new sign. The Garlic Clove. I wanted to cry. Like a big giant baby. Throw a temper tantrum, scream, kick. Anything that would make him turn the car right around.
"I can't go in there," I whispered, staring at the sign as if it might attack me when I wasn't looking.
"What the hell are you talking about?" He was exasperated. Yeah, dude I know. Try living with me all of the time.
"Bella. She works here. Emmett is her brother-in-law. She might be here. She might be working. Shit. Shit. Shit." I started to hyperventilate, panting out my words.
Jasper clapped me on the shoulder. "Well, this is great! Maybe you can talk to her."
I turned to look at him with trepidation. He was completely serious. "No, Jas, no. I cannot go in there."
"Edward, I don't force you to do much, right?" He paused and faced me with a warm, reassuring face. "You're doin' this. You're goin' in." I saw the determination in his eyes. He would have to pick this situation to pull out the guilt and remind me how understanding he normally is.
"If I go in there, ugh," my stomach swirled dizzyingly at the thought, "You will not speak to her, ask about her or talk about her."
"Deal." He smiled, "I like you all fucked up; you're brain's all muddled, and you're much easier to negotiate with." He looked all smug and happy, and I sort of hated him.
I walked through the front door with the weight of a man walking to his own execution. At this point, I wasn't sure if I'd live through dinner. I was pretty damn sure I'd die of humiliation between entrée and dessert.
The hostess was a quiet but pretty girl, and she greeted us warmly. She walked us to a square table with a chair on each side, and Jasper and I sat down opposite each other. She said something about our server, but all I picked up was that the server's name wasn't Bella. I was able to relax minutely. Bella wasn't anywhere to be seen. Maybe she wasn't working tonight.
I settled into my chair and unwrapped my silverware from the napkin. I rubbed all of the metal utensils furiously with the cloth.
"You know, they really are clean. We found it was much easier to just put them in the dishwasher than to try and convince patrons to eat with dirty forks." A clear, effervescent voice teased me. I shifted my gaze to see a tiny woman standing next to one of the empty chairs. Her hair was a short almost-black bob, and her bright eyes were a rich greenish-blue. Her face looked as if she were born smiling; her features settled into the shape naturally. She smelled warm and sweet like brown sugar, and there was an undertone of something vaguely familiar.
"I'm Alice, and I'll be your server tonight," as she spoke, she pulled out the empty chair and sat down at the table. If I hadn't been watching, I might not have noticed because her height didn't shift at all. Curiously, I glanced to the floor to see her toes stretched to meet the wood as her feet swung back and forth. Never mind how strange it was for a server to sit at the diners' table, I watched her feet swing and realized I was next to Bella's roommate.
"And you are?" She shoved her hand into my line of sight. Was she for real?
"Um, Edward. Nice to meet you Alice," I managed to stammer, shaking her hand. She shifted her gaze to Jasper, and they studied each other for a long moment. Jasper's eyes danced around her face as he reached out his hand.
"Hello, Miss Alice. I'm Jasper." She took his hand, but didn't shake it. They just held still and stared. After a deep breath, she redirected her focus.
"Okay, gentlemen. What're we drinking?" I wasn't sure if 'we' included her. After joining us at the table, maybe anything was fair game.
"Well, Alice," he purred her name, "I think I'll need to see a beer menu."
"No, you won't. What're you in the mood for, Jas?" I thought she was still asking about a beverage, but I couldn't be sure. One look at my best friend told me it was going to be one of those nights.
"Well, darlin', somethin' light and refreshin' to go with this agreeable balmy weather we've been havin'." Oh God, he pulled out the accent. It was always barely there under the surface of his words, but when he wanted to charm a girl, he suddenly became Doc Holliday. It typically worked too.
Alice just nodded her head and shifted to look at me. "And what kind of beer are you in the mood for, Edward?"
"Uh, what Jasper said, I guess." He quirked an eyebrow at me over the table. Yes, I plan on drinking. Why do you think you're driving?
"Alright boys, look over these menus while I get your drinks. Then we can discuss what you'll order." Somehow it sounded as if we weren't going to have much to say in the matter. Jasper's eyes followed Alice's ass all the way back to the kitchen, and then he sighed.
"Bossy little thing, isn't she?" His eyes were bright and ridiculously sparkly. I huffed. "Oh, I almost forgot; is Bella here?"
"I don't think so. I haven't seen her anyway, but I'm pretty sure Alice is her roommate." I spoke pointedly and raised my eyebrows, silently pleading with him to behave himself. He gave me a stern disappointed glare.
Silently, we both read through the menu. Alice returned with two glasses of beer. They were obviously different, and the glass she set in front of me had an orange slice in it. I took a sip as she sat back down at the table.
"Good choice, Alice. It's my favorite," I was surprised to taste Hoegaarden. At least if she was bossy, she was accurate. She nodded at me dismissively as if to say 'I knew that; you're too easy.'
"Sweetness, this is delicious. What is it?" I scowled at his impromptu nickname but was impressed that she'd chosen something Jas couldn't identify.
"It's a microbrew we order up from down south. The brand is Abita," she pointed at his glass, "And that one is called Purple Haze," she finished with a wink. Jasper's eyes glazed over like a teenage girl dreaming about prom, and I could tell he was done for.
"So boys, have you decided on anything?"
"Well, Sweetness, do you have any suggestions for us?" I couldn't watch them anymore. It was depressing. Jasper had made more progress wooing Alice in twenty minutes than I had Bella in over six months.
"Of course I do." She paused and inhaled more air than I would've thought her miniature lungs could hold. "You're going to forgo an appetizer because the fresh bread is to die for. Then you'll have the baby greens salad with strawberries, they're in season, and toasted walnuts, they add a nice earthy flavor, tossed in a citrus balsamic vinaigrette, our house recipe, and topped with fried chévre, that's goat cheese.
"For your entrées you'll both have the Honey-Lime grilled pork chops, so good, with the haricot vert, which is fancy-pants for green beans, and Bella's famous mashed sweet potatoes." My eyes darted to Alice's face at Bella's name. She stared intently at me, obviously gauging my reaction. She knew who I was. Bella was here somewhere. I tried to glance down nonchalantly, but it was too late to take back my intense gaze.
"Make it two of those, Sweetness. I'm surprised you didn't pick us out somethin' sugary for later," Jasper drawled and leered. If he weren't so charming it would definitely translate as creepy. Like when I stared at Bella. Ugh.
"Don't worry. I know what you'll have for dessert." One of her eyebrows shot up, and I was positive she wasn't talking about eating, at least not food. I think I saw a rivulet of drool streak down Jasper's chin as she walked away.
Alice returned quickly with a basket of warm flaky French bread and a small ramekin of something spreadable. She sat right down again, started tearing pieces of bread off and slathering the fragrant stuff on them for us.
"Alice, don't you have other tables?" I asked her curiously.
"Yep, why?" She looked expectant.
"Um, I just thought you wouldn't have the time to sit with us if . . ." I trailed off, noticing how unfriendly I sounded. She looked at me with the saddest puppy dog eyes and fluttered her eyelashes as if she were blinking back tears. Oh fuck me. I'm an asshole. Seriously, I attacked Bella, and now I can't even make it twenty-four hours without seeking out her roommate and making her cry. I was panic stricken as it dawned on me I had no idea what to do with a crying girl.
Her face shifted back into a wide, devious grin and she laughed, no, cackled. "Relax Eddie, I'm just fucking with you." She punched my arm. Hard. Jasper laughed a bit too loudly, a sycophantic gleam flashing in his eyes. He was sold. He was chugging the Kool-Aid; he really was screwed. For a moment, it made me giddier than a schoolgirl. I wanted someone to suffer with me, even if he had a much better chance at normal interaction.
I scowled at her while I rubbed my arm as inconspicuously as possible.
"Well, try the bread." She pointed at the table. We obediently picked up the uneven chunks and bit into them. We chewed in silence for a moment, and then Jasper grinned.
"Sweetness, what is that? It's so damned good."
"It's garlic cloves roasted in olive oil til they're mush," she turned to watch my face, and I nodded slightly in discomfort. "It was Bella's idea, actually. She's a server here. Her sister and brother-in-law own the place, so she helped with a lot of the menu." Her intent gaze made me want to squirm. She'd been waiting to say it. "Well, I'll go get your salads; enjoy the bread." She spun and bounced at the same time, and I thought that must be what flouncing looked like. Smug flouncing.
This was slow painful torture by a deceptively tiny little woman who contained entirely too much evil and served what promised to be astonishingly tasty food. Tasty like Bella. Damn.
Jasper was doing a poor job on the distraction for Edward front. Ever since Alice first sat down at the table, he'd been obsessively watching her move around the room. When she disappeared behind a door, he would stare patiently until she walked back through it. I prayed to God I didn't seem this imbecilic when I was around Bella, but I guessed I was probably worse.
Alice came back with vibrant salads, and I let myself be distracted by the delicious food. She sat again. At one point, she took Jas's fork, sweetly scolding him, and built him 'the perfect bite.' The fork held a little bit of everything, and she brought her hand to his mouth, feeding him. I almost threw up for the second time that day, and I resolved to ignore them as much as possible.
Alice left, apparently to do some sort of work. I truly had no idea how she was taking care of all her tables, but she seemed to be doing just fine. Jasper avidly watched her flounce smugly around, and he forgot to eat the rest of his salad. When she returned, she looked at me earnestly.
"Did you enjoy the salad, Edward?" A pleasant smile painted her face.
"Why yes, Alice, I did. Let me guess, Bella's recipe?" Her eyes popped innocently wide in surprise.
"Well, no, Edward. It was Rose's idea. Why would you think that?" She was trying to bait me, and she paused before casually whispering, "It just happens to be Bella's favorite."
She picked up our plates and winked at me before turning to dance away.
"Isn't she fascinatin'?" Jasper breathed, and I couldn't tell if he was actually posing the question for me.
"Definitely fascinating," I grumbled. "She'd make a wonderful Wicked Witch; she's got the cackle down, not to mention the evil."
Jas didn't hear me, and Alice made her way back with larger plates. She set them down in front of us and sat herself in the chair. I glanced pointedly at my empty beer glass once I knew I had her attention. She scowled at me, stood up and turned to get me another. She was back quickly with a new beer for each of us, and to my ever-mounting dismay, she sat back down again.
"Alice, I think we're fine here for the time being if there's anything else you need to do." I wanted her gone from the table. She was cute and not wholly obnoxious, but she seemed insistent on bringing up Bella. I wasn't sure how much she knew, and it made me very uneasy.
"I'm waiting to see if you like the food." She averred.
Jasper, in his greatest moment of ignorance I had ever witnessed, completely disregarded everything I'd said, drawling, "Well, Sweetness, you're welcome to keep us company all night if you'd like." I stretched my leg out and kicked him hard under the table. He winced and shrugged. Fucking traitor.
Alice leveled a pointed look at me, raising an eyebrow. I picked up my fork, stabbed at the plate and shoved some food in my mouth. My aggravation was immediately replaced with taste bud delights.
"OhmyGod, Alice. That's so good," I mumbled through a mouthful of the best mashed sweet potatoes I'd ever tasted. "Wha-?"
"I know, right? It's Stilton," she interrupted. "Bella puts Stilton in her mashed sweet potatoes."
A wave of desire washed over me. It was strange, food made me want to attack her in an elevator even more. It was dizzying. I was depraved. The memories of being pressed against her in the small warm space brought her taste and smell back to me, heightening the flavors on my tongue. Alice continued to sit with us at the table, but thankfully, she was quiescently enthralled with Jasper and, apparently, his mouth. I ignored the intense gazes pulling Jasper and Alice slowly closer to each other. While I considered picking up my plate to lap up the residue my fork couldn't acquire, Alice stood up, removed the plates and moved to the kitchen without saying a word.
Jasper exhaled an infatuated sigh, and I resisted the urge to reach across the table and smack him.
"Are you about ready to go?" I queried to regain his attention. His eyes shifted to me with a miserable look and then back to the doorway through which Alice had disappeared. When I saw his eyebrows lift and a smile spread over his cheeks, I knew Alice was on her way back.
She walked over with two plates of pie with fluffy white cream on top, setting them in front of us. She took her seat again, leaned her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands.
"Muscadine pie," she offered simply.
Jasper tucked in without question, but I couldn't help the curiosity, which, against my better judgment, encouraged Alice to talk.
"What is a Muscadine?"
"Some sort of large grape. I think it's related to a Scuppernong," she answered distractedly as she watched a blissful expression wash over Jasper's face. Oh well that cleared everything right up. Everyone knew what Scuppernongs were.
"Fuckin' delicious, that's what." He mumbled over a half masticated shovel full of pie. I took a tentative bite and discovered once again Jasper was right.
It was unbelievably delicious. The whipped cream had cinnamon in it, and I wondered why I'd never thought of that before. The fruit was interesting and tart, and the pie crust, oh my God. I enjoyed cooking, but I never claimed to be a baker. Pastries, cakes and pies seemed like complicated chemistry to me, and I didn't relish the idea of dealing with intricate measuring utensils, sifters and magical ingredients, which, if forgotten, could ruin a whole endeavor. The closest I ever got to baking involved simple custards. I knew enough to know I was eating the best pâte brisée crust I'd ever had. I'd always preferred it to normal piecrust, but this one was better, different. I couldn't place the subtle flavor, but I was prudent enough to keep my mouth shut. I was sure Alice would enjoy explaining to me in detail how Bella had designed this dish too; maybe she'd even grown the grapes, whipped the cream or churned the butter used in the crust.
Hmm . . . Bella churning butter. Her fingers wrapped around the long handle, the smooth motions as her arms worked the shaft. Up and down. Up and down . . .
My stomach churned now as I admitted to myself that even pie made me want to molest the poor girl. Watching Jasper make goo-goo eyes at Alice helped squelch my desire to search the whole building and attack Bella, but it also made me sad. I had exhausted myself. I wanted to crawl between my cool sheets, dream of Bella in the blissful inky darkness of my room and possibly never wake up. In my dreams, I was a normal, decent man, and Bella loved me. My reality was morose in comparison, and it sapped my energy. My shoulders slumped forward as I rested my forehead on my crossed arms.
"Here you go, Edward." Alice handed me a folder containing what I assumed was my check. She handed Jasper a similar folder, and I was surprised she'd split the bill without having to be asked.
"Alice," Jasper whispered, "I was wonderin . . ." I'd never heard him stall or stammer around a woman before; if it hadn't been so nauseating, it would've been cute.
"Jas, your folder has my phone number in it," she stated in an offhand, matter-of-fact sort of way. "I expect you to call me within the next forty-eight hours, understood?" He nodded mutely, a giant grin back on his face. "Edward, I gave you the whole bill because I know Jasper was here for you, and I figured you'd want to thank him." She turned and flounced away. Smugly.
I would have been indignant, but she was annoyingly correct. Jasper had dropped whatever he was doing to babysit me, and I was generally a mediocre friend in return.
That Monday night, after I curled up in my cool sheets and drifted off to sleep, I had vivid and conflicting dreams of Bella. They alternated between hungry, desperate, painful aching leaving me hollow and empty and innocuous, pleasant, charming bliss full of yummy pies and cinnamon whipped cream. I awoke feeling raw and missing her taste.
Seven days passed since my lips touched hers. Seven days since I felt the radiating warmth of Bella pressed against my body. Seven days since I discovered I wanted to take all she had, to leave her nothing. Seven days since her best friend made me see, unintentionally through food, I needed to stay away from her.
She was light, airy and shiny, and I was merely the tarnish to her silver. I couldn't leave her anything. I wanted everything from her, and I had nothing to give. I would not hollow her out, making a magnificent creature into a shell. I avoided the elevator Wednesday and Friday, and I thought if I could do that and make it through the weekend, it would get easier to stay away.
I was wrong.
As I had the days before, I watched her on the following Monday at 11:09 a.m. through the small square of glass in the stairwell door as she stepped out of the elevator. She wore her old jeans again and a dark blue blouse made of some sort of thin cottony, gauzy material. It epitomized her. Light and flowing and refreshing, yet still deep and saturated and fascinating.
I couldn't smell her as she walked by. I couldn't see her eyes, but I saw the set of her mouth, her frown. I wanted to taste her on my tongue even if it was just in the air hovering around her body. I couldn't, not through a ten-inch square of safety glass. I gripped the door handle, pulling it redundantly against the jamb, afraid if I didn't hold it closed, I'd push it open. I saw her for ten seconds, but I didn't really see her. I didn't see her cheeks lift and blush pale pink when the elevator doors opened to reveal her there. Her soft sweet smiles were lost to me. Her brilliant dark eyes couldn't invite me to wonder at their secrets and mysteries if I couldn't see them. The heart-aching sight of warm fringy lashes fluttering delicately against her dewy skin as she tentatively pressed her lips to mine was no longer mine to have. Never was, really.
That's why I watched through a tiny window instead of standing next to her in an elevator car. She wasn't mine, and I wasn't good for her.
After she disappeared through the lobby, I raced up the stairs back to my apartment. I timed the steps as I always had, attempting to force the chaos in my head to become sense. I wanted to finish the composition I'd started after reading American Rhapsody. It had been two weeks since I started it, and I still couldn't resolve the notes. I'd never struggled for long with a piece and it frustrated me.
Inside my head, Bella's melodic voice recalled the words she'd read in the park almost two weeks ago. I could hear her clearly, so much richness of timbre keeping the rhythm paced, and I timed it with my steps. 'And do you now, baby, as you climb the stairs, do you still feel as you felt back there? Do you feel again as you felt this morning? And the night before? And then the night before that?' I remembered her eyes as they'd burned into me while she read, seated on the park bench. Just as then, her eyes stripped me down and left me bare, exposed. Even in my memories, her gaze pierced my carefully constructed armor, and I became transparent.
I hurried into my apartment and couldn't get my pants unzipped quickly enough. I rubbed and stroked my poor abused erection aggressively as random images of Bella circled through my head. Her spring-scented hair, her shining eyes, the swell of her breasts, her graceful neck, her deliciously full lips pressed against mine, her soft wet tongue swiping across my lip, and that simply I ejaculated forcefully into my own hand.
As I stood at my sink trying to scrub away my revulsion a now familiar sob escaped my chest. Hot salty tears spilled out of my eyes, and I struggled to quell the shaking and hitching of my shoulders. As miserable as I felt about pushing myself onto Bella in the elevator, I knew, given the opportunity, I would do the same exact thing over and over again. I wanted her and couldn't have her, shouldn't have her, but I could do nothing to change my situation. So, I sobbed and mourned my loss.
Eventually, my tears dried and my breath calmed, and I walked hollowly to the piano. Just as I had experienced last Wednesday and Friday, I was able to play partially through the piece which reminded me of Bella so much it made my hollow chest clench, but I got stuck in the same spot. No more notes. No more music. No more sound. Then, just Bella's voice. 'Or do you feel: What is one more night in a lifetime of nights? What is one more death, or friendship, or divorce out of two, or three? Or four? Or five? One more face among so many, many faces, one more life among so many million lives?' I slammed my fingers inharmoniously against the keys, beating a dissonant peal from the strings.
I repeated myself frenetically, playing melodically then bashing the keys as nothingness flooded my brain. After doing the same thing over and again for longer than I'd like to admit, I heard a confident sharp knock at my door.
No one ever knocked on my door in the middle of the day. Not even Jasper. I assumed after a moment of confusion, it must be building maintenance. They were supposed to notify us if they needed to come in, but sometimes they didn't. I stood perfunctorily and slogged to the door. I turned the dead bolt and yanked the door open with disinterest.
I smelled her at the exact same moment my eyes met hers. She had a nervous yet determined expression on her face and two coffee cups in her hands.
I heard the last echo of a memory provoked by deep, chestnut eyes, the smells of summer and waterfalls and my Gram's ambrosia, 'But first, baby, as you climb and count the stairs (and they total the same), did you, sometime or somewhere, have a different idea? Is this, baby, what you were born to feel, and do, and be?'
Bella was at my door.
BPOV
Seeing Edward in the restaurant last Monday after he kissed me and ran away, made my gut drop and land down around my shoes with a splat. I fled to the kitchen, dragging Alice by the wrist, and begged her to cover my tables, so I could hide. Thankfully, she loved me enough to agree. Secretly, I think she was equally motivated by the opportunity to screw with his head. I couldn't claim to mind because he was screwing with mine.
I peeked out through the swinging door to the kitchen and watched his face alternate between embarrassment, surprise, revulsion (mostly when he had to watch Alice ensnare his friend with her batting lashes and bossy demeanor) and sadness. That was the worst, it made my chest ache. He looked so drawn and miserable. I wanted to run out to him and kiss it all away, but I couldn't help thinking my kiss was what caused those feelings to take root in the first place. So, I crouched behind a door like a child, hidden from a beautiful tortured man.
Alice reassured me he'd warmed up to her a bit, and she was positive he was in love with me. Her words, not mine. I felt myself begin to hope. I hoped his panic was short lived, just anxiety. I hoped I would see him as the elevator doors parted on Wednesday, eyes simmering pools of green as they lighted upon my face. I hoped for lingering stares and unintentional lopsided grins, which I would swear translated the sun. I hoped, irrationally, he would sweep into the space and kiss me earnestly, a flash of heat, green and sunlight through bright amber, warm soft lips, clear peppermint and wet tongues. That hope made my heart throb painfully against my ribs.
To say Wednesday was a disappointment was to say I missed my mom. The words were completely true, yet somehow lacked the pungent emotion roiling in my head, in my heart. The morning was made evermore arduous by my unrealized hopes. There was no sweep, no kiss, no green, no amber, no peppermint. No heat.
I couldn't stop my feet from Edward's floor once I returned Jake to his home. Not that I tried. I sat in bittersweet silence, absorbing the harmonious notes as they flowed into a discordant anarchy ending with the mash keys. Every time. My muscles flinched in response to every frustrated jab at disorderly chords. The strain grew with the sounds and mirrored my aggravation. I didn't know what was wrong with me or what Edward's problem was, and I felt like howling my impotence in an accompaniment to the piano. I left feeling more disgruntled than before, and the hope I carried that morning converted to disappointment.
I couldn't help myself. I went back again on Friday. Nothing had changed, aside from my discovery I was a glutton for punishment.
My whole weekend was a blur of working and waking and sleeping and dreams. Dreams in which Edward held me, kissed me and made love to me. He relished, he dazzled, he never withheld. Dreams in which Edward feared me, ran away and hid from me. I chased, I sought, I never found.
On the following Monday, I decided to take action. I obviously couldn't just let the man fade into the recesses of my memory to be revisited in a melancholy future, so I resolved to push. Tentatively.
I purchased a tea for myself and a coffee for Edward; Seth was more than willing to make me his usual. Standing in front of his door, I heard him screaming his frustration. His voice was the notes, the keys, but he screamed nonetheless. I set the drinks down on the floor, and my fist hovered under the metallic numbers marking his door. For a moment I considered grabbing the cups and darting down the stairs, running until a pain stabbed into my side and hot liquid gurgled out of the cups. Instead I pounded the wood beneath my balled hand with spurious confidence, relieved my knuckles didn't stutter.
I had enough time to pick up the cups and hold them out both as a shield against rejection and as a peace offering. I had no idea when, why or how we'd come to be at war. Maybe we weren't; maybe I just felt submerged in a battle.
The door swung open haphazardly, and Edward didn't look at me immediately. His tortured eyes jumped to mine, and his beautiful mouth fell slack with surprise.
"Hi, Edward." I greeted him simply.
"Bella, hi . . . how did you know where I live?" He looked stunned, and I was completely unprepared for his question. I didn't know if I could admit the truth, so I fumbled for a reasonable albeit dishonest response.
"Um, I looked at Mike's list when he went to the bathroom." I was a terrible liar; I hoped he didn't see through my fabrication. His eyes watched mine, but they didn't seek truths. They were exhausted and resigned. He continued to block the entrance with his body, and I couldn't tell if it was to keep me out intentionally or just bewilderment.
"May I come in, please?" I wanted to have a real conversation with him. I had to start somewhere.
"Uh, um, sure, I guess," he stepped back slowly, gesturing for me to move past him through the doorway.
I didn't hesitate, unwilling to give him the option of changing his mind. His apartment felt like an inherent extension of him. It definitely smelled like him, and I felt punch-drunk as I drew in a full deep breath of Edward. His apartment was very crisp and clean without being cold. Most of his furniture and decorations were modern and minimalist, but there were subtle eclectic elements to keep everything from feeling harsh. A beautiful piano was positioned near a large window over looking the street, and my mind immediately imagined him seated there, fingers dancing over the keys. Edward followed quietly behind me, leaving only the nervous shuffle of his feet in his wake.
"So, this is my apartment," he offered anxiously.
"It's beautiful. It's like you," I breathed before I could register how it sounded, and I chased my accidental admission with heated cheeks and a shy smile. I reached out my hand to give him the coffee. "It's your usual. Seth made it for me."
"Thank you, Bella." His eyes held mine, "You didn't have to."
"Actually, I kind of owed you, and I needed a reason to visit you." I decided to just suck it up and be brave. It was his turn to flush, and I barely resisted the urge to bridge the gap between us, Velcro-ing my body to his. "I wanted to talk to you, Edward, because I like you." I felt like I had made this clear before, but just in case he was dense, I reiterated.
"I like you too. A lot." My heart started a marathon race, and I thought my ribs might crack with the pressure. Until I heard his next words, "But, I just don't know what I'm doing here." He gestured between us, and suddenly the few feet seemed wider than the Grand Canyon. I could see the doubtful hesitancy in his eyes, and it punctured my inflated chest faster than a knife. Maybe he just didn't want me enough. I definitely didn't fit into his organized minimalist life.
"Honestly? I'm not sure what I'm doing here either," I stressed 'here' to imply I might have made a huge mistake knocking on his door. Suddenly, gurgling hot liquid bubbling over my hands as I ran as fast I could away from his front door seemed like a great alternative to my current situation. "I just want to be your friend, Edward. If that's all you'll have . . ." I whispered the last part, trailing off. Very brave, Bella.
His eyes softened and swam with concern. "Thank you. I want you as a friend, but . . ."
"Will you play for me, please?" I hastened to ask before he could reform rejection, which melted on the tip of his tongue. His eyes widened with a stricken expression. I pleaded with mine, and he moved over to the bench.
"Is there anything you'd like to hear?" The question escaped in a tentative whisper through his beautiful lips.
"Well, I don't really know anything to request. Maybe you could just play something that makes you think of me." He looked agonized, and his brows knitted above crystalline green eyes, which begged me not to make him choose. I knew what I wanted to ask for, but I wanted him to choose. I gave him a reassuring nod, and settled myself next to him on the bench. I didn't stop my fingers from crawling onto his thigh and settling into the rough weave of his jeans. His muscles tensed and released under my palm.
Edward shifted his weight and inhaled a deep noisy breath. His fingers hovered over the keys, and then he began to play.
The notes he sculpted from the ivory were mine. The sound billowed around me, seeped into my pores and flooded my veins. All of my uncertainty bubbled up my chest and dissipated, replaced with warmth. Edward's fingers approached the chords where I knew him to falter, and I held my breath. The music continued confidently for a few moments longer than he'd ever played it before. I watched his shoulders relax minutely and his face soften. Hot tears rolled down my cheeks, expelling the aching in my chest.
Then there was an anarchic clash, and he was panting with frustration.
I clenched my fingers on his leg slightly, trying to comfort him. Edward dropped the fall, hiding the keys, before he pivoted to face me. His face was crumpled with disgust and aggravation.
"I'm sorry, Bella. I can't -" his chest hitched, and he slid my hand slowly off his leg.
"No, Edward, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I kissed you. I'm sorry I asked you to play. I'm sorry," I blubbered, entreating. I wasn't sure what I asked for, but I knew I was asking.
"Stop." He reached out to hold my face, and my eyelids unwittingly fluttered closed, my cheek tilted into his hand. The heat of his breath on my face gave me chills, and then his lips were pressed soft and warm against mine. His kiss was sweet and gentle, desperate and needy all at once. After a long moment of his mouth tenderly molding to mine, he drew back slightly and tilted his forehead to rest on my temple. "You have no reason to apologize, Bella. You're amazing. It's just . . . it's just me. I can't be a good friend to you. I just can't."
"But . . ." I didn't know what to say. He called me amazing, he kissed me and then he fed me a bullshit line. "I'm just trying to be your friend . . ."
"I'm sorry, Bella. It really is better for you this way. I think you should go." Fingers stroked gingerly down my cheeks before tracing my chin and dropping back to his sides. His words should have been hard, cruel, but they only sounded broken.
Tears streaked down my face and saturated the front of my shirt. Standing silently, I reached out to grip his shoulder for a second, and his fingers flew up to hover over mine. I waited for him to rescind my dismissal, but all he did was skim his fingertips over my skin before withdrawing his hand all together. I walked quickly to his door; I wanted to clutch myself to him and never let go, but he asked me to leave. I chanced one last look at Edward before he was out of my line of sight; his face was turned to the window, his shoulders were slumped forward, his body trembled. I slammed the door behind me, and the sharp sound echoed the crack in my chest.
My teeth caught my bottom lip and willed the pain to replace my tears. My hands scrubbed roughly at my face as I stepped into the elevator car. My fingers twisted into my eyes, pressed into the wet fringe. I struggled for a deep, calming breath.
I managed to keep a dry-ish face while I made my way home. The tightening of my cheeks as the salty moisture dried on my skin matched the tightening in my stomach. I tried to imagine it wrapping me tightly, steeling me from my confusion.
Alice walked out of the kitchen as I stepped through the front door.
"Honey, what's wrong?" She asked with panic in her voice.
"I'm fine Alice. I'm fine," I said, shaking my head. I felt my face start to twist around the weepy hiccup caught in my throat, "I'm fine. Alice, I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine, I'm fine." I chanted through the sobs hitching from my lungs, and the tears poured down to my chin.
"Oh, Bella," Alice folded herself around me as I slid to the floor. She squeezed my shoulders tightly as I rocked back and forth, chanting my fallacious mantra. After a few minutes, the constriction of her slender arms fiercely encompassed me and helped assuage my weeping.
"Sweetie, do you think we could move to the couch?" She whispered softly.
"S-sure," I stammered with a watery smile.
Alice unwrapped herself from my slumped frame and stood back to let me stand. She followed me to the couch and watched me flop onto the cushions. Her warm little body curled up next to mine as her arm curved around me again.
"Bella, what's wrong?" Her face was painted with worry, and I didn't know where to begin.
So, I started in the beginning. I started with my hallway concerts, and the beautiful stranger in the elevator. Alice had heard a lot of it before, but I told her again anyway. It was a credit to her self-control that she didn't react when I told her about over six months of hallway lurking. She let out a small gasp when I explained to her that Edward was my private composer, her eyes goggled wide.
Her face hardened as I explained his reaction to our kiss in the elevator. I'd left it out when explaining to her who he was in the restaurant. Alice's glare was directed at my prior lack of disclosure, and I knew it. I asked her for a temporary reprieve until I was able to handle her scolding; she was kind enough to let it go, for now. I told her about my failed attempt to push my relationship with Edward a little further, which resulted in his assertion of his inability even to be friends with me.
"Alice, he said he couldn't be my friend. He asked me to leave." A few more tears escaped with the words. Alice pulled me into a hug and smoothed my hair comfortingly.
"Bella, I love you, but I have to tell you, I think you sort of brought this on yourself."
"What?" I was in utter disbelief. What the hell was she talking about?
"Hon, you've imagined this perfect man who plays this beautiful music for you, and it turns out he's gorgeous. I think your brain just decided he was perfect. I don't think you know him at all. What would make you think he would act any way in particular? Maybe this is normal for him," she patted my hand gently as if it softened the gut-punch she'd just delivered me. "Listen, I think it's painfully obvious he's very interested in you; his eyes glaze over at the mention of your name, but I think you need to take this whole thing slowly and actually get to know him."
I mutely stared at her with incredulity.
"I think you should continue to try, but be careful. You don't know what his issues are, and trust me I can tell that boy is chock-full of 'em." She leveled me with an extremely serious expression. "Bella, I don't think you should go sit in his hallway anymore. I think you should limit your interactions to, well, actual interactions."
"I see what you're saying, Alice," I shrugged. "Maybe I did infuse our relationship with false intimacy we didn't actually have. It just feels so . . . ugh!"
"I know, hon, I know." Her eyes glassed over, and I could tell she was thinking about Jasper. He'd called her the very same night they'd met. They had been on numerous dates, and Jasper had visited our apartment more than once already. I poked her teasingly in the ribs to evoke ringing giggles, and I felt microscopically better.
I knew Alice was right. I had to stop sitting in Edward's hallway and hallucinating about how perfect he was.
I knew Alice was right.
But I couldn't stop.
My days melded into a blur that only came into focus for one hour three times a week. I moved through my life hollowly, only looking forward to my next hour outside of apartment 702. It was horrible in more ways than one.
The knowledge he was only feet away was agony. The sound of his presence in the blanket of harmony was torture. I sat and I listened, and I saw his face. The damaged expression he wore when he told me to leave his apartment; when he told me he couldn't be what I wanted. I cried silent tears, which burned invisible scars into my skin, and I listened. I listened because I needed to hear reassurance he was okay. I needed to know he was right when he said it was best if we weren't friends.
But he'd never actually said that, had he?
I wanted to know he wasn't broken, didn't hurt like I did.
Then I'd get angry with myself for caring so much about someone I barely knew. My heart couldn't be broken. I'd hardly had time to give it to him. I felt ridiculous and impetuous for allowing him to matter. I tried to store him in the recesses of my mind.
I tried.
Not truly. Not really.
I didn't want him to dissipate into a fog of memory and regret and lost opportunity. I wasn't ready to forget, to let go.
I still had hope. Irrational and insane hope.
I hadn't seen him in twenty days.
In twenty days, I'd heard him play the same composition, an obsessive loop always ending abruptly, angrily in the same place. The place he'd stopped with me seated next to him on the piano bench. Somehow I knew his lack of progress was directly related to the resignation in his eyes when he asked me to leave his life by leaving his apartment. He hadn't been in the elevator once, and I had to wonder if our previous meetings had anything to do with chance. Seth informed me that Edward hadn't been in for coffee since the day we had found each other in the shop. I asked.
So, I sat and listened. I listened for a sign his decision was the correct one. The prudent one. A sign I should heed his assertions and ignore his frustration. I could feel the tension crackling through his door as he pounded the keys. His fingers had to have split and bled. Everyday it was worse, never better.
On the twentieth day since I'd seen him last, I decided I would not exceed twenty-one. I decided he needed me whether he would admit it or not, and I desperately needed him. He would listen to me. He would hear what I had to say, and hopefully he would understand.
I rose early with the melancholy sweetness of a lingering dream. A dream of Edward, who loved my hips, my skin, my hair, my lips. Making love, taking everything I have, more than I knew possible, and absorbing me whole. A sense of surety infused me, and I was positive I wanted, needed Edward. More importantly I was sure he needed me, whether he would accept it willingly or not. I dressed with intention on the twenty-first day, happier than I'd been for weeks with a glimmer of a sweet dream and a plan of attack.
It had been twenty-one days since I'd seen him last, and I would not wait for twenty-two.
a/n part 2: So, I didn't mention it before, but part of the delay was because I wrote a oneshot for the Tattward & Inkella contest. I am giddy to say, I made it to the voting round, and if you haven't already, you should go read it. You're also quite welcome to vote for it, I'm just sayin . . .
It's called Sleeper in a Clone Suit, and it will more than make up for all the mopey angst I just served you with this chapter.
Story and voting are here: http://www . fanfiction . net/~tattwardandinkella
I will love you forever if you read it and review.
Speaking of reviews . . . do it, click the button, do it, do it! You know you want to (which means the same thing as 'you know I want you to.')