A/N- t&a- a couple of housekeeping items…
this is a collab. The fantastic astilbe13 and I are writing this together. Its posted under both of our profiles, so there's no stealing happening between us
not sure what breed of dog walt is. We have a pic we could post if you all want?
now that we're done with that…THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH for the reviews. you're kind of blowing our minds…
once again, we don't have the pleasure of owning these fabulous characters, but we're having a good time borrowing them….
Every day I wake up,
Hummin' a song.
But I don't need to run around,
I just stay home.
And sing a little love song,
My love, to myself.
If there's something that you want to hear,
You can sing it yourself.
Gillian Welch- Everything is Free
Mornings are my least favorite thing. There is something about being ripped from sleep, where everything is possible and beautiful, into the harsh reality where you sleep on a futon and sell diet pills that always makes me nauseous in the morning. It probably doesn't help that this morning my head feels like lead. Especially heavy lead, that was dipped in steel.
I burry my face further into my pillow and guard my eyes from the light that rudely pours in every morning. Sleep must still be on my brain because my pillow is abnormally compliant and smells way too good to have been washed in my fragrance-free Tide.
The weight and pain in my head force my sleep to stay at bay. I try to pull last night into my consciousness, but all I can recall is going to the bar, having a pink drink and then…nothing. Obviously the blandness of my life repeats itself and I have evaded any possible excitement.
Just as I am determined to face the light, something wet and cold hits the back of my knee. My vocal cords freeze with the sensation. My mind fills with any possible, logical, rational explanation for such a feeling. Nothing remotely comforting comes to mind. I force several deep breaths in and out of my mouth and into the pillow, determined not to panic yet.
The wetness then moves up the back of my thigh, leaving a sticky trail behind it. Rational just left the building. The scream builds in my chest and just as the wetness meets the back of my bare neck I pull my face from the pillow and wail. Maybe a neighbor will hear and come, not that I know any of my neighbors. That would insinuate socializing outside my comfort zone, which is not something I do.
My eyes are bleary from the pink drink as they dart around the room. I wait for the familiar odds and ends to come into focus, but they don't. Everything around me is simple, minimalistic and sure as hell not mine. All man and metal and…toys? The wetness is relentless, now focusing in the exposed skin on my face.
I clamp my mouth shut to keep any of the wet from entering there. I don't know what it is and I don't want it in my mouth. The large form is now in front of me and I'm sure I must be dreaming, or nightmaring. I'm in a strange place, with a monster trying to swallow my head. I open my mouth to scream again, but a hand clamps over it. The simple action makes my panic rise, but then I hear chuckling.
"Bella. Bella, shut up."
I look up into the smirking eyes and my panic ebbs slightly. I know him. Well more like I know who he is. The details aren't there. His eyes keep my gaze and I watch as the monster, i.e. the dog, trots off towards a food bowl in the far corner. My eyes dart around once more, now being able to place this room as possibly his.
A few shuddering breaths are expelled through my nose and I fix my eyes back on him and his hand which is still firmly over my mouth. I rear my head back and he pulls his hand away.
"Why am I here? Did you lace my drink with something? I knew it tasted too good. Do all date rape drugs taste that good?" I know the words coming out of my mouth don't really make sense and I should be a little more worried about the possibility that I have been violated, but something deep inside of me, which apparently has a huge pull in my thoughts, is slightly ok with being violated by him.
He falls back on the bed laughing and shaking his head. I curl my legs underneath myself and find something kind of reassuring about the fact that I am still fully dressed in the clothes I wore last night. That's a good sign right?
"I wouldn't have had to drug you even if I wanted to. Is you tolerance normally that low?" He chuckles. His eyes are twinkling and that pushes me off the edge. I cross my arms firmly over my chest and glare at him. This is not funny. I don't do things like this. It may be normal for him to have strange women in his bed, but this isn't me. But maybe that's ok.
"Just because I'm not an all out lush and can't drink by the barrels doesn't mean my tolerance is low. And what do you mean you wouldn't have had to drug me? You think I want to sleep with you? Isn't that a little presumptuous?" I bite back. I know that I haven't had a lot of experience with alcohol or men, but he doesn't know that. For all he knows I have a serious boyfriend and drink every night.
"You want my shit so badly girl," he smirks. My mouth falls open. This seems to only amuse him more. I shake my head and try to gather my senses back to me. A deep breath through my mouth and it feels fury. Oh everything holy and sweet. I grasp my hand over my own mouth and dart my eyes around. My purse is sitting in a chair in the corner and I glare at him as I crawl off the bed. It's an enormous bed. And obviously much more comfortable than a futon, but that's beside the point. I hit a stuffed bear at the end and look back at him and he shrugs offering no explanation.
"You are so….so….." I can't even find the words as I dig through my purse. My hand grasps my toothbrush and I pull it out clutching it to my chest. I glance back at the laughing man on the bed and he points towards a door. I march through it and slam it behind me for good measure.
Once inside my heart goes into overdrive. What is going on here? This is not part of my story. Things go along slowly, steadily, mind numbingly for me. Bumps like this are avoided. But when you wander into strange bars looking for men who shouldn't attract you, everything apparently goes to hell. I turn on the faucet and stick my toothbrush under. I hesitate before using his toothpaste, but my oral hygiene wins out.
I begin the mental count as I scrub my teeth furiously. My mind is at odds with itself. I want to be mortified, terrified of where I am. I should be. My father would want me to be, but I can't find it in me to hate this situation like I should.
This is what I have been craving. Something different, a reason to look twice at my pathetic history thus far. I feel a tingle pass through me as I think about the man behind the door. Once again I try to remember what got me here. I remember the pink drink, the unassuming questions and then a small revelation. Edward. At some point in my obviously perfect mental state I did get his name.
I brush my tongue harder and longer than normal and rinse twice. I look at myself in the mirror and tease myself into thinking maybe I look at little more intriguing today. A little less like scenery. My eyes dart around the bathroom, taking in my surroundings. Everything screams man. Everything except the Mr. Bubbles bubble bath sitting on the edge of the tub and a bucket of bath toys hidden under the sink. I slam the cupboard shut and feel guilty. I'm peeping around his personal things. Just because he likes childlike things doesn't mean anything. He does seem a little like an overgrown child.
I push the door open slowly, half expecting the whole room to morph into my own sad little studio, but its as I left it. With a large dog now in the center of the bed and Edward laying next to him rubbing his ears. His head turns towards me as I enter the room.
"Were you taking a dump in there?" he asks. I freeze where I am and my mouth drops open again. I swear to God I am going to swallow a fly in this man's presence. My hands go to my hips, toothbrush still clutched in one. I grit my teeth and shake my head.
"No I wasn't. There is no way I would do that here. I don't even know you and, no I just couldn't. I was brushing my teeth you foul, foul man," I state. I march over to my bag and shove the toothbrush in, forgoing the plastic cover.
"It takes you ten minutes to brush your teeth?" he asks raising an eyebrow. I run my tongue over my teeth and lips and take him in. I can see more of his tattoos in his white t-shirt. I shake the mental inventory out of my head.
"I like taking my time. It makes my teeth feel shiny," I admit. There are few things better than the feel of really clean teeth under a tongue, all slippery in the best way. It doesn't hurt that I've never had a cavity and the way my dentist praises me always make me feel like its some sort of enormous achievement.
Edward props himself up into a sitting position and mimics my visual inventory. I squirm a little under his gaze.
"What exactly does shiny feel like?" he asks. My tongue immediately seeks out my teeth again, savoring in the slick surface. The minty tang of the toothpaste just adds to the sensation. Surely he's had his teeth cleaned before? Doesn't everyone enjoy a clean set of teeth? I sigh trying to find the right words.
"Like slick and wet and sweet somehow. Like everything is perfectly in line and you can almost feel the whiteness," I breathe. I never said I was a writer or good with words. I tear my eyes from his and look to the side. What the hell was that? What am I doing here sharing prose about my freshly brushed teeth with this man who seems to think I want to have sex with him?
"Slick and sweet and wet? It sounds like pussy," he smiles. My mouth drops again and I shut it immediately trying to swallow and gather some kind of coherent thought. I've never really heard that word fall from someone's mouth in person. Reading or hearing it in videos where its every other word people say is different. Coming from him it sounds so nonchalant. Like he's talking about milk or bread or something equally as innocent.
He pushes himself off the bed and takes several steps towards me. I stagger backwards and feel the wall against my back. He leans in close, inhaling my breath as I exhale.
"I wanna feel," he breathes. Before I can answer his lips are on mine. My mouth follows its obnoxious habit of falling open and his tongue slips in like it was an invitation. He runs his tongue all along my teeth and over and around my own tongue. I can't move, can't do anything. I lean back against the wall and try to keep my thoughts in line.
Everything about his mouth is soft. I don't know why I thought it would be rough or harsh. Maybe because of the tattoos spread so liberally across his arms. I let him continue his feel. Just as I press my lips back to his he pulls away licking his lips as he grins down at me. His smile is anything but vicious or slimy, it warms my torso and makes me want to squirm.
"I see what you mean…it feels better on you than it usually does on me," he states. He pulls away and goes back to the bed like he didn't just memorize my mouth. Without him close enough to keep my tingle going I can feel the panic rise up. Panic from being so far out of place, from not knowing what the hell I am doing or what this means for my story.
I scramble towards the chair with my bag and hoist it over my shoulder shoving my bandaged thumb nail into my mouth as I search the room for any other remnants of me.
"I, uh, I don't want to be rude because it was incredibly nice of you to let me stay. I don't even know why I did stay or what happened or what I possibly could have said or done, but thanks I guess. We're all even for the bump on the head and your pervert dog and I have to go. I won't be taking up space in your bed and, yeah," I turn on my heel and head towards what I hope in an exit. There are two doors off the living room and I feel a little like a mouse in a maze.
I need to be home, in front of my computer where putting this all to a wall will hopefully make it make sense. There I can let my friends tell me what to think, how to compartmentalize this. I look around the living room and see the heavy door and know I am close to feeling right way up again.
"Stay a little longer Bella. Walt and I want to cuddle with you," he calls after me. I turn my head to see him following me out of the room and I rush towards the door. I grasp the handle and look back one more time, I don't know if I will allow myself this kind of slip up again.
"I can't. This isn't me. You don't even know how much this isn't part of the plan, part of my story. Yeah. Thanks," I spit out before throwing open the door and thundering down the stairs. The dark hallway only makes my panic swell, the craving for my mundane life overwhelming. The door at the bottom swings open into the deserted bar and that at least answers some questions.
I cross my arms over my chest and keep my head down. This is the closest thing to a walk of shame I've ever done. That thought forces a hint of a smile onto my face, but my good sense smacks it away. My pace is quick and when I lean against the locked door of my studio, my shoulders finally fall from the weight of my thoughts. I immediately turn to my computer and begin to ask for answers.
My phone has been ringing for five minutes and there might be a possibility that I could get in trouble for ignoring it, but that would tear me from the window and the unexplainable vigil I am keeping. The wall and my friends were no help.
Alice said that I should put Edward behind me. That he is obviously some kind of womanizing creep with a toy fetish and I am better off.
Trent said that men who take women home drunk only want one thing and I am not that kind of girl.
All my friends seemed to take the same train of thought. I should be happy, feel solid in their consensus. The only problem is that I don't agree. At all. I get that when you write it all out, Edward may come off as an ass, but I couldn't put into words the buzz I get around him. There was no way to transfer that feeling through the computer or explain how even though the things coming out of his mouth may not be PC, his eyes fix it.
I squeeze my eyes shut and lean back in my chair away from the window. Away from the pull I feel towards the bar across the street.
"Swan if you don't answer your phone I'm going to start taking all your business," Mike taunts. I want to tell him to have at it that I couldn't care less if the caller doesn't get their faulty, overpriced sugar pills. I turn to him in all his cheesy, short sleeve button up glory and I'm hit with a fantastic idea.
"Mike...can I ask you something?" I begin. He pulls the headset down off his ears and actually looks interested. I roll my chair towards him.
"Just because a guy lets a drunk girl sleep in his bed doesn't mean he's a manwhore, right?" I ask. Mike's face rears back and then he laughs. I lean forward anxious for someone to justify my curiosity, my errant need.
"You've been talking to too many girls. Maybe he was just being a nice guy. I mean nothing happened?" Mike asks. I shake my head adamantly, trying to clear Edward of all charges. Mike leans back into what I can only assume he thinks is a sexy pose, his hands resting on the back of his head.
"Then no harm no foul. Sounds ok to me," he decides. I feel myself bounce in my seat in silent celebration. I begin to roll back to my desk, when a hand grasps the arm of my chair.
"You wanna go get some drinks and you can crash at mine?" Mike smiles, but it looks like a grimace. Now that is slimy. I pull away from him and roll my eyes. Not even going to answer that question. My phone rings again and I grab it grateful for the distraction.
I rattle off the scripted lines and feel a smile spread over my face even though the person hangs up after line 7. I can follow the tug now, give into the pull. Work comes easily the rest of the day, my mind busy with the details of my new plan. A little detour can be justified, as long as I don't stray too far.
There are a ridiculous amount of cookies at the grocery store. I stare up at the shelves and feel overwhelmed. How am I supposed to know which one says 'thanks for letting me stay in your bed and sorry for running out like an idiot'? I pull a couple down and try to resist turning them over to read the nutritional facts. Stupid parents and their brain washing eating tactics.
If my mother had allowed me processed sugar I would not be having this problem right now.
A teenage boy walks by and I feel rescued.
"Hey!" I call after him. He stops in his tracks and he turns to face me. I am instantly red all over not having thought past getting help. He looks at me expectantly and I hold out the packages of cookies.
"Which ones?" I ask. His face twists into something I recognize as him thinking I am slightly crazy. He reaches out and taps the chocolate ones before turning quickly to leave. I smile my thanks, but he's long gone. Proud of my purchase I leave the store and let the bag swing in my hands as I walk towards the bar.
The open sign is lit, but I know from experience that it will be mostly empty. I push open the heavy door and take a moment to let my eyes adjust to the darkness. My heart speeds up as if it is only now realizing that I am repeating my diversion, but repeating it makes it less of a diversion and more of a pattern. This realization gives me the courage to approach the bar.
I lean over the smooth surface and look behind to try and find him. Falling back on my heels, my lips purse into a pout. Why isn't he here?
The door leading to his apartment bangs against the wall, nearly sending me to the floor in shock and suddenly he's there. It takes a moment for his eyes to find me over the enormous box he carrying, but eventually they do and his lips curl into a smile.
"Change your mind? Wanna go upstairs and cuddle?" He teases. He moves behind the bar, setting down the box before appearing in front of me. He cocks his head to the side and waits. I know it's my turn, but I'm distracted by him and his nonchalance.
"I wanted to thank you again for the other night. It was pretty decent of you to let me stay over and I was kind of a freak when I woke up. So I thought I should bring you something, but flowers are for girls so I thought baked goods, but I didn't have time. So..." I drop the grocery bag on the counter and wait. He pulls open the bag and peers down at the cookies. I fidget a little and wait for his response. Maybe I picked wrong.
"Oreos? Wow, girl, I'm honored. It took you, what, less than a minute to pick these up?" he quips. My mouth remembers its role when he's around and falls open. I reach towards him and try to snatch the cookies back, but he pulls them just out of my reach.
"I didn't know what you like or what the proper 'sorry' gift was for a guy who works in a bar and harbors a monster in his bed. I had help and it took me at least ten minutes, but if you don't want them I'm sure I can find someone who does," I spit out, reaching again for the cookies.
"No I want them. You can't take a gift back. Besides I know someone who will love these. Have a seat," he replies. He hides the cookies beneath the counter and I sink onto a stool feeling defeated. This was not how I envisioned this going. I thought he would be charmed by my gesture, instead he seems slightly insulted and just as smug. Now I feel silly and am picturing a Victorias Secret model eating the cookies as he feeds them to her. I glance towards the door and think about wandering back out that door and back into my rut.
"I could get you something else if you'd like? Something you might want?" I try. There is a chance I can fix this still and stratify this odd need to have him like me, accept me. I feel like a kindergartener trying to impress the other kids on the first day of school.
I wait for his answer as his hand fishes under the counter and reappears with one of the cookies. He pulls the chocolate pieces apart, revealing the white center. My eyes are fixed on his mouth as he slowly licks all the cream from the cookie. Suddenly I really want a cookie.
"You could come over on Sunday and help me paint," he leads. I nod enthusiastically, eager to have a way to break even with him. I seem to be constantly in his debt and it's unsettling. He smiles at my response and I relax a little into my stool, but then his face changes and he pauses.
"I don't know if that's gonna do it though," He sighs. The weight is returned and I look to him waiting for him to release me from it. He leans slowly over the counter, his elbows propping up his body. His face is close to mine, so close his breath is making my hair flutter around my face. I can smell the chocolate from the cookie he just ate.
"One more thing. That's it. Then you have to forgive me," I bargain. He smiles slightly and nods. The relief returns slightly, but then he gets closer. I rear my head back a little, but not fast or far enough to avoid his lips meeting mine. They are just as soft as I remembered and told Alice. The pace is slow this time, my mouth cooperates and stays closed. His lips are persistent and press against mine over and again until I open my mouth slightly to breath. His tongue is against mine instantly. He strokes my tongue several times before pulling away.
I keep my eyes shut and feel his hand on my chin, pushing my jaw back together. My eyes snap open to find him smirking at me again.
"Thanks, all better now," he states. I lean back in my stool and wait for that relief to come again, for that weight to be lifted. Instead I just feel warm. Warm and slightly out of body-ish. I slide off the stool and begin backing my way towards the door.
"I'm glad we could clear that up. I don't like feeling like I owe people and now we're even. So you have a good night of...liquor," I say. My feet are clumsy and heavy under me as I reach for the door.
"Running again?" he calls. I can hear the laughter in his voice. I turn and smile slightly as I push open the door, the sunlight outside obscuring my view.
"Sunday right?" I say only to let him know that I will be back, to tie myself to that event. The rational needs that reason, that obligation. I don't wait for his answer, but push into the sunlight and feel new, different, like maybe I could be something else, someone else, not in a rut.