A/N:
I don't own Twilight. If I did, instead of being here typing, I'd be writhing and screaming under Jasper. Or Edward. Preferably both. Hey, what can I say? I'm a vamp slut.
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I told myself I wouldn't think about Edward. But of course, that didn't last long. One can only watch so many Iron Chef marathons before reverting back to thinking about a certain tattooed demi-god.
The days following Edward's abrupt departure, I repeatedly called his phone, only to be directed straight to voicemail. I was a woman on a mission, determined to get hold of him. I found myself calling up to thirty times daily. His mailbox was now full of embarrassing pleas and desperate ramblings. Was I losing my mind? Possibly. But then again, crazy people think they're sane. So in turn, if I admit that I may be one sandwich short of a picnic, then that must mean I'm not batshit crazy... right? In my quest to hear Edward's voice, I also stopped answering any calls from my friends, not willing to retell the story of my humiliation. I know they were worried, but I couldn't find it in me to care. They'd find out soon enough.
After five days, I decided to just turn off both of my damn phones, sick of everyone calling and worrying and clogging my answering machine. There was only one person I wanted to hear from and apparently he wasn't thinking enough about me to pick up the damn phone like he promised he would. Fucking asshole.
I knew I shouldn't let him get to me like this. It'd been days since I'd showered or even looked in the mirror and I just didn't give a fuck. When he left, I took a week off of work and stayed inside my house like the miserable recluse I was. My pathetic daily routine consisted of eating, sleeping, watching The Food Network, and wishing Edward would magically appear at my door. I would go to bed at seven p.m., never bothering to turn on any lights or change my clothes, and do it all over again the next day.
I knew it wasn't healthy to wallow in my self-pity. But... oh damn well.
Here it is, Saturday. It's been a week since he scurried out of my door. A full week of feeling sorry for myself, of dealing with this Edward-induced despondency. I hate myself for being so pathetic and weak. For letting him affect me like this when I promised myself I wouldn't allow it. I briefly consider calling Alice to cancel my date. But quickly dismiss it. I don't want to explain anything to her and I'm just way too emotional and depressed to be able to hold a normal conversation. Oh well, whoever he is, he'll get the picture when I don't show up. I'm sure he's an asshole, anyway. Just like the rest.
I decide to make an early dinner and hit the hay prematurely tonight. Nothing is better at passing the time than sleeping. So what'll it be tonight? Hmmm... Lean Cuisine or Hot Pocket?
The Lean Cuisine requires poking holes and cutting slits in the plastic before heating. Then I have to pause the heating after two minutes and remove the dessert, only to continue heating for another minute... yeah, way too much work. Hot Pocket it is.
While my dinner is heating in the microwave, I slink to the floor and rest my head on the cabinet behind me, closing my eyes and wishing that this was all some weird nightmare. I feel the cold tile under my ass, through the worn, ragged, hole-riddled sweat pants I put on days ago. I lift my arm and sniff my pit. Whoa. Stinky. Oh well. I wonder if Family Feud is on the Gameshow Network, I wouldn't mind shouting at the TV while I stuff my face full of frozen delicacies.
Right as the microwave dings, there's a knock on my door. Weird. I'm not expecting anyone. My heart quickly stutters to life with the blinding hope that it's Edward who's behind the knocking. Who else could it be? It has to be him! I lift myself up from the floor and sprint to the door, damn near taking it off its hinges as I swing it open with gusto.
My million-watt smile dims when realization dawns on me. It's not Edward. He's not here. He didn't come. I want to cry.
"Well damn, don't get too fucking enthusiastic!"
I sigh. "What are you doing here?"
"What kind of greeting is that? You gonna invite me in, or are you gonna let me get frostbite on The Obliterator?"
"The Obliterator?"
"Yeah, you know... my womb raider, cunt wrecker, lap rocket, man cannon—"
I lift my hand up to stop him. "Okay, okay! Enough! I get it! Come in. Just shut the hell up with the Urban Dictionary shit."
He smiles and struts into my place like he owns it.
Deciding to pass on the niceties, I ask, "What are you doing here, Emmett?"
He plops down on my couch and picks up the remote, flipping through channels while I'm standing over him with my arms indignantly crossed.
"Rosie sent me. You know her and Alice are worried sick, right? Anyway, I'm here to make sure you get ready and show up for your date." He looks at me and grins annoyingly before turning his attention back to the idiot box.
"What?! I'm not going!"
"Yeah, you are, Bella-saurus. This isn't up for discussion. Now hop in the shower, use scalding water and scrub off the top five layers of skin. You smell like a doo-doo Popsicle."
"You can't make me!"
"Actually, I can. Your best friends gave me permission to use any means necessary. Do you really want me using my free reign? I'm trying to be nice and give you a break here. But if you push me, I have all kinds of delicious ideas in this here noggin o' mine to get you looking, and smelling, like a human being again."
I shudder thinking of the freakishly disturbed things that he could come up with. He could easily overpower me, since he's a damn tow truck with teeth. But I decide to call his bluff anyway.
I lift my brow in defiance. "Oh yeah? What kind of stuff do you have in mind? Surely you don't expect me to just cave under idle threats."
He mutes the TV, and faces me, looking more serious than I've ever seen him. "Well, the first idea is the most tame. I'd take it easy on you out of pity. First, it involves me picking out your outfit. I'm thinking maybe a micro-mini skirt and those stripper heels Rose bought you. Followed by you naked—after I rip your clothes off, of course—dish soap, a turkey baster, some SOS pads—"
"Okay, fine!" I huff and stomp off to the bathroom. Stupid Emmett, with his demented brain, trying to scrub off my skin with steel wool.
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Emmett was relentless, making sure I shaved, plucked and perfumed myself into a stupor. Even though I was annoyed with him, I had to admit to myself that I loved being in his company. Really, who wouldn't love being around him? Of course I'd never tell him this. He'd undoubtedly spend at least a week bragging about how awesome he was. So I put a scowl on my face and bitched every time he made a suggestion or even opened his mouth.
By the time I was ready to go, I was a little sullen at the thought of leaving Em. He had made me feel so much better in just the little while he was here. Before walking out of the door, I gave him a hug, burying my face in his hard abdomen. I felt the heavy weight of his arms rest upon my shoulders as he wrapped his arms around me and hugged me back.
"Thanks, Em."
He smiled his dimply smile before kissing my forehead. "No problem, Bells. Now hurry up and get outta here so I can jack off."
"Ugh! Gross! You perv!" I slap his arm and turn to leave, smiling on my way to my car. Only Emmett can get away with making me laugh by joking about whacking off.
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When I arrive at the theater, I remember that I have no fucking clue what this guy looks like or what his name is. I walk into the lobby and look around. Maybe if I look clueless enough, he'll recognize the "blind date face" and approach me. After standing around for about a minute, I see a lanky, doughy looking man walking confidently in my direction. Great.
"Hi. I take it you're Bella?" He has a weird, nasally voice with a slight New Jersey accent that immediately annoys me. He reminds me of Mr. Boston from the reality show I Love New York.
"Yes, I'm Bella. Nice to meet you..."
"Royce. Royce King. I'm sure you've heard of me," he loudly boasts, looking at the movie patrons passing by, as if hoping someone would recognize him.
The name doesn't ring any bells. "Should I have?"
"Personal trainer and actor. Royce King." Personal trainer? Dude looks like his sallow, clammy skin is stuffed with marshmallows.
"Um. Okay."
He looks me up and down before frowning in distaste. "You know, I usually only date supermodels and high profile actresses. Maybe a Plain Jane will be a nice change of pace."
What a fucking joke. "Wow, I'm deeply flattered. It's not every day God graces me with the presence of such an imperious mega-star." I say, already bored, rolling my eyes. Another day, another dickhead. I'm starting to get used to this shit which is sad on so many levels.
"You should be flattered. I don't go out with just anyone. I've been on award winning television shows. We won Oscars," he gloats proudly. "I'm sure you remember my recurring role on Full House." Full House? Seriously? When was that, the 1980's?! So this haughty assclown is a washed up child actor?"
"When you say 'we,' it's probably safe to assume that it was the show and not your sporadic and mediocre adolescent over-acting that won said awards. Am I correct?"
He lets out a loud bark before an obnoxious sound—that I'm guessing is a laugh—erupts out of his thin, chapped lips.
"Oh my goodness! That's the funniest thing I've heard in a long time! In fact, it was funnier than the time I made an appearance on Step by Step and—"
"Wait, what? Were you talking? I think you've confused me for someone who gives a damn."
Can I really put up with this vinegar smelling buttchump for another two hours? Nah, probably not.
"Listen, Royce King, I'm going to the restroom. While I'm in there, why don't you take your time slipping into something more comfortable? Like a coma."
I walk off to the ladies room, leaving Royce standing there like the fool that he is. Hopefully he'll be long gone by the time I'm finished.
As soon as I enter the bathroom, the door whooshes open behind me. The door nearly knocks me down, since I'm so close to it.
"Watch the fuck out, goddamn dick—" The insult dies in my throat.
I can't believe my eyes. He's here. Edward! My eyes widen in shock and my brain loses all ability to function. He swiftly turns me around and forces me against a wall. Dumbfounded, I look into his face and his eyes are tempestuous, glowing with fury. A deep scowl embedded in his face.
His face is flushed, his breathing coming out in quick ragged gasps. He sluggishly lowers his lips to my ear, warm spurts of breath caressing my neck and causing a violent shudder of trepidation to run down my spine. "Who the fuck was that, Bella?" he demands quietly, slowly, through clenched teeth—fire and rage oozing from his lips.
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A/N:
He's back! Yay! But he's angry! Boo!
If you haven't checked it out yet, my new collab with Kitty Cullen-03 has been posted. Check it out in my profile, it's called Three's Company :-)
coachlady1 is so fuckawesome, it's scary. I swear I send her like 25 things a day to beta and she never complains. She. Is. Da. Shiznit.
So Blind Dates is sadly coming to a close *tear* I predict maybe two more chapters after this one and it'll be complete *iz sad*
Until next time, my loverlies. Smooches! ^_^