A/N- t&a- the reviews continue to completely overwhelm us in the best way possible. we can't thank you all enough for that! pics of walt and finn are up on the profile…
We're not the originators of these characters, but we have a good time bending their lives…
Think of every town you've lived in
Every room you lay your head
And what is it that you remember
Do you carry every sadness with you
Every hour your heart was broken
Every night the fear and darkness
Lay down with you
But I am holding half an acre
Torn from the map of Michigan
I am carrying this scrap of paper
That can crack the darkest sky wide open
Every burden taken from me
Every night my heart unfolding
Half Acre- Hem
My eyes are starting to ache. That's what happens when you stare so long and hard at something that you think the inanimate object might start to move. There's no good reason for me be watching my door. He doesn't know where I live. Wouldn't have any good or logical explanation to want to find out. And yet here I am, staring at the door, a slight tingle and pull in the pit of my stomach telling me something I don't want to admit.
I force my eyes away from the door and towards my normal distraction. My laptop is lit and humming, waiting for my fingers to stroke the keys into a frenzy. Waiting for me to succumb to my only source of social activity. That is, my only normal social efforts until I followed my curiosity into a bar and made a friend.
Is that what we are? Friends? I roll the words around in my mind and then over my tongue. So many aspects fits that I ignore the ones that go beyond the definition. Like his tongue's ability to find my mouth, often. The thought prompts my tongue to sweep through my own mouth looking for traces of him there. I don't know why I keep looking for him in places he's not.
And then there's Finn. How could something so small terrify me so much? If possible I am even more frightened of the tiny version of the man than the man himself. I don't know the first thing about kids. Apart from the fact that they generally seem hyper, dirty and generally obnoxious. And yet Finn is none of those things. It might be argued that he is more of an adult than Edward generally is. But Finn only adds to my curiosity. An urge to be closer to every aspect of Edward.
The screen of my laptop goes dark due to lack of key stroking and I feel abandoned. I want that feeling of calm and fulfillment that usually comes with my perusal of the walls of facebook, but tonight all they did was make me feel like a coffee cup filled with water, wishing for the real deal.
It doesn't help that the 'faces' on my screen don't seem to understand my new….friend. Alice is still stuck on some sick perversion of him using me to fulfill his sexual needs and then tossing me aside. Trent is not much better, I think he may think that I have completely made Edward up. Which maybe a few months ago I may have, but how could anyone be that imaginative?
I didn't even try to tell them about Finn. Who knows what kind of hell they would raise with that addition to the equation. Alice loves children, but I think that's only because she is basically child sized. Trent however….thinks children represent a stage in life that should be forgotten.
The glowing numbers on the clock next to me capture my attention. 7:14. It's early still. The bar probably has a healthy crowd by now. I force my eyes open and my mind away from picturing the sight. Edward all smiles even when I'm not there. It's really not fair that he should be able to control my smiles. I wonder what Finn does while his dad pours drinks for the lushes downstairs.
My mind rebels against me and replays our last time together. His words echo in my mind. His insistence that I can always come over and it's all I need. He's the only thing that can make sense of the mess in my mind. Make sense of the confusion and terror and tingle. I pull my laptop from my bed and shove it into an oversized bag before shoving my feet into flip flops. It's not until I'm halfway down the block that I even think about that fact that I am wearing sleep clothes.
My feet stay in motion as I take in the cotton shorts and t-shirt. Going back to change isn't an option. If I turn around I might lose the sudden burst of courage that is currently carrying me away from comfort and pattern. I hoist the bag higher on my shoulder and keep going. It's not like it matters.
As I approach the bar I can hear music and laugher spilling into the street. There is a very significant piece of me that thinks this is a bad idea, to keep willing placing myself in the path of unknown. To keep risking my sanity to scratch an itch. But the part that matters, doesn't care.
I push open the heavy doors and almost expect the entire population of the bar to turn at stare at the obviously misplaced girl, but no one even turns as I enter and weave carefully around people to get to the bar. I wait at the far end for a glimpse of him, but all I see is his back up and a never-ending line of people anxious to lose a little bit of clarity.
Minutes pass and I start to jitter. Where is he? The back-up catches my eye and nods in my direction before holding up a finger. I comply with his request. A couple of heads turn in my direction when he walks towards me and I turn away from their eyes.
"Ed's upstairs. Taking the night off," he states. I take the first fulfilling breath since I walked in and nod. He begins to walk away, but then turns back.
"You know how to get up to his place? He'd want you to come up. I'll get an ass chewing if he thinks I scared you off," he adds. His tone is light and I know it's meant to sound teasing, but I can't muster the smile that would let him know I got the joke. Instead I turn and push towards the back corner and the door. The last of my resolve is called upon as I push open the door and take the stairs quickly.
My fist is against the door before I can think better and I can hear the orange monster barking in response. High pitched giggles filter through the door and I'm smiling for no good reason. I wait for the door to open and my mind wanders. I should try to get along better with the dog. They seem close and I guess all his pawing is probably better than biting or growling. As I resolve to make friends with the orange beast the door flies open.
"Can't get enough of me, can you?" he smirks leaning against the doorframe. The urge to turn around and run back down the stairs is surprisingly faint.
"You keep telling me to come and I don't want to be rude and not come. Especially when you are generally nice to me. Apart from all the sarcasm and sexual remarks. I think you actually can't get enough of me," I answer. My face heats up when I realize what I've said, but the grin on his face simply stretches. He reaches out towards me, running his thumb over my bottom lip, my mouth drops open slightly in response. Small feet beat against the hard wood and then a tiny arm winds around Edward's leg. I peer down at the half hidden face and wave. The face buries itself in denim and I sigh.
"Never said different, did I? Come in," he replies. He moves his body slightly to the side, but not enough that I don't have to rub against him as I pass. The warmth from his body warms me instantly. The thought doesn't last long as the orange monster runs towards me, his paws taking instant residence on my boobs. I turn my body away and drape my free arm over my chest. Edward's laughter rings out and I turn to glare at him.
"Do you train him to do these things? I find it hard to believe it's just a coincidence," I blurt. I watch him until he gains control and meets my gaze.
"Down Walt. No," Finn's tiny voice is firm and once again he is acting as the adult in this situation. Walt listens obediently and trots over to lick the toddlers face. Finn pats his head lovingly and then twists his hand under his collar attempting to drag him towards his room.
"You've got a nice set, Bella. He's just appreciating them," he states. I clench my eyes shut and wonder how I can find any peace of mind in the presence of this man. But it's irrefutable. There's a freedom when I am here that I can't find anywhere else.
"I don't really see the point in saying anything, but thank you. So thank you, but could you maybe prevent him from appreciating them in the future?" I ask. I watch as Finn continues to struggle to pull the now innocent looking dog from his place on the floor.
"Walt go with Finn," Edward commands and the dog reluctantly follows Finn across the floor to his room. The dog obviously understands English or Edward's English. He so told him to feel me up.
"Finn, pick out pajamas and I'll let you skip a bath tonight," he calls and I can hear the child sequel in delight. I wonder when bathing stopped being a chore.
I feel Edward in front of me before I look up. He holds my stare with his eyes as he tugs on a piece of hair brushing my collarbone and then slowly trails his finger down, barely grazing the outside the of my boob. His breath fans over my face.
"I don't think I got to tell you hello properly," he breathes. I pull back from his touch a little, not ready for the friends line to be blurring this early in the night. I need more time to bask in this calm. I pull away and clear my throat. I move around him, dropping my bag onto his coffee table and tucking myself into a corner of his couch.
"It's your night off?" I ask. I know the answer, but I want him to talk more, more of his words will drown out the ceaseless jabbering in my mind. He disappears into Finn's room for a moment before emerging, still child and dog free.
"Have you eaten dinner yet?" he returns. I want to say something about answering a question with a question, but I know it will be lost on him. His ability to do whatever makes him happy is unfathomable to me. I want to be like that all the time. I realize he is staring at me while I am mentally scolding him.
"Umm, I don't think so. I mean I had a granola bar on the way home from work, but that was a couple of hours ago," I sigh. I guess in all the door staring and laptop avoiding I forgot about eating.
"Good. I haven't eaten and I hate eating alone," he states.
"Finn is going to bed without dinner?" I gaff. Is that still a punishment people use on their kids? Didn't that stop in the 50s?
"What kind of piss poor father do you think I am? Of course I fed Finn. He had pasta about two hours ago," he chuckles. Guilt washes over me. And now I've insulted his parenting. I should just sink into between the couch cushions and hide.
"You didn't have pasta?" I ask. He shoots me a look that makes me feel like the answer should be obvious.
"My son doesn't eat the shit I eat," he answers. He disappears into the kitchen and I wonder if he's going to cook. That would be a new faucet to my curiosity. A new reason to be drawn in so completely. I lean against the couch and keep my feet tucked underneath me where Walt can't get to them.
Finn emerges from his room clothed in a tiny bedtime version of a batman costume and climbs onto the couch next to me. He scoots until his tiny body is touching mine and shoves a large book into my lap. I stare down at the cover and recognize the wizard immediately. Is this appropriate for a three year old? I look over at Finn who is waiting expectantly.
I open the book to where an M&M wrapper is holding a place. I swallow thickly and scan the page quickly. There's mention of a giant spider and I'm not ashamed to admit this book scared the shit out of me when I read it. And I was 18.
"Are you sure your daddy is ok with you reading this? It's a little scary," I ask. I watch as Finn rolls his eyes and looks impressively more like Edward. He places a small hand on my arm.
"It's not for reals Issybella. Wissards and Harry are maked believe," he assures me. In that moment another piece of me relaxes and I begin to read. The words flow easily as Finn crawls even closer as I continue. I'm so caught up in the story I don't even see or feel Edward come back into the room.
"Those are some top notch voices," Edward's voice causes a jolt to go through me, nearly knocking me off the couch. I cover my heart with one hand and breathe deeply a couple of times. I look down at Finn to see him sleeping deeply, his head on my thigh.
"You shouldn't eavesdrop. I thought you were cooking. I'm catching up on my Harry Potter. Finn said it was ok and I can't say no to him. I thought it might be best if we got along, since well, if I want to be here, and I, yeah," I stumble through the words. He's laughing again and as much as I want to be angry that he seems to find humor in me at all times, I can't.
"And you what?" he presses. I try to rewind my mind and track my thoughts to find some kind of end point, but can't come up with anything. I pull myself tighter against the cushions.
"I was just trying to make nice. I want your son to like me," I admit. He shakes of his laughter and rounds the couch, lifting Finn gently from my lap and cradling him against his shoulder. He closes his eyes for a brief second like he's trying to memorize the moment and the action spreads my heart wide open.
"Well, bonding time is over for this one. Maybe you should try to butter up Walt even though I'm pretty sure excessive tit gropage constitutes liking," he muses. He walks towards Finn's room and I look down at Walt. One at a time. I sigh in defeat and reach for my computer. I flick it open and wait for the blue light and hum to kick in.
"Weren't you going to cook? Or get food? Or did you decide not to?" I ask as Edward reemerges, leaving Finn's door open a crack. My mind being occupied by something else, the words come easier, clearer. Everything becomes second nature with my computer in front of me.
"I ordered. What are you doing?" he asks. I feel the couch shift as he sits down next to me and he moves closer, to get a better view. Mild panic rushes over me. I wasn't planning on sharing my guilty pleasure. I just assumed I would log on like I do every night and he would do whatever it is that he does when I'm not around and just let me bask in the freedom.
I tilt the screen away from his eyes a little.
"I'm just checking Facebook," I answer slightly. He doesn't need to know how often I do this or how much of a crutch it has become in my life.
"You came over to check Facebook? Was your internet not working at home or something?" he asks leaning in even closer. I want to pull the computer to my chest and protect this from him. How could something so public seem so personal? Like laying myself out in front of him.
"No, I usually do this at night and I guess I wanted company and you seem to always like company so I figured I could do both?" I offer. He leans close enough to rest his chin on my shoulder and his hand hovers over my own as I navigate through the page, like he wants to take control, but won't.
"I don't get it…what do you usually do at night? How much time do you spend on here?" he asks. His breath fans down my neck and I shiver a little at the sensation. The words finally register and my face heats up rapidly. The truth is so damning. To tell someone that my entire social life revolves around this 15 inch screen would never paint me in a good light, but it's the truth.
I begin to abuse my thumbnail with my teeth to avoid answering. This is a pivotal moment and he doesn't even know. And selfishly I'm not ready for him to know this much, to be as deep as he would if I start telling him my secrets. Those are reserved for the anonymity of cyber space for the moment.
"I have a lot of friends who live far away, so this is the only way I can really keep in touch with them. And there are a lot of them and I try to be accommodating with their schedules and different time zones and I may spend a lot of time on here, but you know. I want to keep my friends so…." The words pour from me after being carefully censored.
Edward is silent and I wish I could see his face. Then his hand tugs my thumbnail from my mouth while the other nudges my fingers from the mouse as he takes control. I wiggle the fingers of my hand encased by his own and watch as he scrolls down the page.
"You have 873 friends?" he asks. I cringe at his reaction not knowing if it's good or bad. My hand twitches to be released so I can gnaw on my thumbnail, but he holds tight. I sigh and slump a little. His chin follows, staying on my shoulder.
"Yeah. I mean I don't talk to all of them, but a lot of them and some are just people I know through other friends and some are people I didn't know, but I feel really bad denying a friend request. So I kind of never say no and it just kept growing," I sigh. He keeps scrolling down and reading the posts. I wish I could delete some of them, but I can't even move. I'm helpless under his investigation.
"Are any of these people from around here?" he presses. He's lingering on Alice's posts and I'm glad I've never told her his name and that she's been occupied with a delivery boy lately.
"A couple of people from work, but not really," I admit. He keeps scrolling and scoffing at some of the posts. With every chuckle I want to melt into the couch. This was a bad idea. It's like he's eavesdropping on all my conversations.
"Is this like, your bar scene? Don't you have any friends around here?" he quips. I know he's just curious and the words shouldn't tear at me, but they do. I can feel my heart race and my eyes start to burn with tears. I choke them back a little before he will see. The last thing I need is to cry. Then I might as well hand him the deed to my soul.
"Well, I'm not from around here. I went to school close to home and I wanted to start over fresh. I guess I'm still new and I haven't gotten out like I should have and I'm not the most outgoing person. I just, I guess not," I stutter. Each word is accompanied by the effort not to cry, not to give in to my embarrassed tears.
Someone pounds on the door and Edward swears under his breath, before pulling himself from his pose around me and walks towards the door. I press the heels of my hands into my eyes urging out the tears. He talks to the person at the door and I can hear the rustle of paper bags.
I pull my hands quickly from my face and keep my eyes on the computer as he comes back. He busies himself with clearing the coffee table in front of me, pushing toy cars and picture books to the ground. It's so hard for me to merge the two people he appears to be. The man and the father. That train of thought only diverts my embarrassment for a moment.
"Well, maybe if you spent as much time developing your social skills as you did on here, you'd be golden," he suggests. He glances up at me and my lip quivers. I knew letting him in was a bad idea. He doesn't understand. Thinks there is something wrong with me. This is why I don't get close to people, why I prefer the computer.
"Hey." His voice is soft and it pulls me from the screen. I glance up at him tentatively, not wanting another lecture in my waning social skills.
"I'm just fucking with you, girl, shit, I spend my days with a three year old who knows more about the world than I do and my nights talking to alcoholics who don't remember our conversations the next day. At least your shit is documented, right?" he soothes. His hand reaches out and traces a wet path down my cheek and I pull away just a little, still feeling the sting of his previous words. His eyes bore into me and I can tell that that was the closest thing to an apology I will get. I take in a deep shuttering breath and nod slowly.
"Whatever. People are people. And know you've got me to socialize with and I might even let you hang out with Finn and Walt if you're lucky. Now, can we eat? Because I am fucking starving," he pleads. I chuckle before looking down at the food he has spread across the coffee table. I can't see much of it, mostly just Styrofoam and cardboard. I close my laptop and set it gently on the floor before scooting forward in my seat to get a better look.
"What is this?" I ask. Food never entered my childhood home completely cooked. My mother didn't believe in anything she couldn't make from scratch. I tried to rebel during college and indulge in fast food, but it always tasted artificial. Alice called me a food snob.
I watch as Edward tears into the containers, scooping out piles of white and yellow before reaching into a large bucket and pulling out a large piece of brown. My words stop his actions and he looks at me like I just kicked his dog.
"KFC. God's gift to humanity," he answers almost reverently. I can't help the laugh that escapes from my lips at his words. I've never heard him talk so seriously about anything. He picks at the piece of brown and pulls away the top layer revealing white and bone beneath. I'm guessing that's supposed to be chicken. He pops the fried skin into his mouth and his eyes closed and he moans. The sound sends a jolt through my body.
"I'm guessing you really like this stuff? You have a suggestion on where I should start?" I ask. I want to go to his kitchen and look for something healthier, but something tells me that I might severely offend him if I do. He extends his greasy fingers towards me, a piece of the skin dangling from between them. I take it gingerly and try to smile.
"Have you never had KFC before? What the fuck is wrong with you?" he gaffs. I roll my eyes and bring the skin to my mouth. I touch the tip of my tongue to it first, tasting the salt and grease. His eyes hold mine expectantly and I shove the piece into my mouth before I can think better.
I chew slowly trying to focus on the seasonings rather than the fat content. I swallow quickly and reach for the glass set in front of me. Now I know why he doesn't feed this to Finn.
"I try to stay away from things that will completely block blood flow to my heart in five years," I answer, coughing down the soda and skin.
"Wasn't that delicious? You've been missing out your whole life," he sighs. I laugh and pull a container with what I think is corn towards me and decide to concentrate my efforts on the fake vegetables.
"I don't know how I lived. I obviously was deprived. I am so lucky to have you to enlighten me," I laugh. I take a few more sips, trying to rinse the taste in my mouth, he's already onto his second piece. My eyes take in the spread in front of my and questions pop into my mind.
"Isn't this a fast food chain? How did you get them to deliver? Don't you usually have to go pick it up?" I ramble. He chuckles through a mouth through of food before wiping his hands across his lips, catching the grease there.
"I know a guy that works there and we have an agreement. He gets free beer, I get free delivery," he smirks. I tilt my head to one side. Obviously he orders from this place a lot.
"I guess that resourceful of you," I reply. He reaches in another bag and presses a warm soft lump into my hand. When he pulls back I look down at the bread.
"Have a biscuit, Bella, it'll change your life," he says. I humor him and bite into the biscuit. It's buttery and soft and I don't mind it nearly as much as the clot chicken. I take another bite and smile at him.
"Thanks for dinner. I can pay you for half," I offer. I reach for my bag. Edward snorts and smacks at my hand. I pull my hand back and glare at him a little which just makes him laugh.
"That's only work if you put it in a biscuit and feed it to Walt," he chuckles. I lean back into the couch and watch as he snatches a couple of French fries and lets Walt lap them out of his hand. My head falls on the arm of the couch and I don't understand why this brings me so much calm. I feel warm and full and its not from the skin and biscuit.
"Then you'll let me pay next time? Please?" I press. I don't want to be a charity case. Charity cases are always looked at like little sisters and that's not what I want. Not that I'm ready to talk about what I want. He raises an eyebrow at my request.
"Let's put it this way….you took over story duty for the night so I owe you. Maybe I'll let you pay next time if you can beat me to it," he offers. I can just picture us racing towards the door to pay, him using his hip to bump me out of the way. I'm thinking I may never get to pay, but I can at least try.
The food gradually disappears and I watch as Edward reclines back into the couch next to me. I glance at the clock on the wall and feel the obligation to leave.
"It's getting late," I state. I can't bring myself to offer to go, but I'll go if he wants. His eyes loll over to meet mine and he grins lazily.
"Mmmm, you know what I love after a good KFC session?" he asks. I sigh and shake my head.
"What?" I play into his question. My eyes dart towards the cracked door across from me and know that it can't be anything too scandalous.
"Having my back scratched," He states. Then he pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it in the general direction of his bedroom. I keep my eyes on the flying piece of clothing rather than his bareback. And then he's wedging himself between my legs, my thighs on either side of his hips.
Last time it was more innocent, a hand under the back of his shirt in a dark room, this feels personal, intimate. It could be because last time we were still so new to each other. He didn't know about my Facebook fixation. Now everything has the potential to mean something.
"Have at me," he urges, leaning back into me a little, but I can't move my arms, my eyes are too busy taking in his back. His back and the intricate lines detailing a home. The lines are angular and blue, lacking the touches that soften a drawing. A blueprint.
When I finally reach out I start by running my fingers over the lines, tracing the design. He sighs a little under my touch. Once I feel I've memorized the lines, I abandon them, running my nails over the skin in the wide looping circles and patterns that I know he likes.
"It's beautiful," I tell him. His back is now littered with red lines from my nails. He leans back further into my touch, urging me to press harder.
"What's that?" he asks. His voice is hoarse and light. I chuckle a little and trace the whole blueprint on his back with a single fingernail.
"Your tattoo. I really like it. It's not like anything I've ever seen," I answer. I place both hands on his back and use my fingertips for awhile, smoothing over the muscles and calming the sting of the scratches.
"It's the house I lived in when I was a kid," he breathes. I can feel his muscles soften under my touch and I love that I have that effect on him. In some small way it feels like paying him back for the feeling I get whenever I am here.
The silence creeps back in and I keeps my hands roaming over his bare skin, alternating between scratching and rubbing. He leans further and further into me until it's almost impossible to move my hands in the tiny space between our bodies. I slow my touch and lean into his back letting my check rest there only for an instant.
"You have to lean forward if you want me to keep going," I say softly. His heavy weight doesn't move, but he turns his face, so close to mine I pull away a little.
"Have you ever had your back scratched Bella?" he breathes. And I honestly don't remember. I'm sure I have, at some point, it seems all mothers are obligated to do so, but I can't actually remember it happening.
"I'm sure I have," I answer. But the seed is planted and I'm picturing his hands on my bare back and I feel the shiver work its way down my body. Before I can indulge myself anymore, large hands reach around me and pull me from behind and place me in his lap. I squirm a little, but his hands are firm on my waist.
"Have you been living under a rock? What'd you do without me for your entire life? Take your shirt off," he commands. He reaches down and starts to do the job himself, but I hold firmly to the seam.
"You don't have to Edward. I mean, you're probably tired and I don't want you to feel like you have to reciprocate. I like doing that for you," I argue softly. He pulls harder at my shirt and it slips from between my fingers. Besides, there is a small person a room away who doesn't need to walk in on his dad and his….friend shirtless.
"Shut up Bella, when someone offers to scratch your back, you take your shirt off and you accept," he scolds. My response is muffled by the shirt passing over my head. Instantly the cold air causes my skin to tighten and I reach for the shirt. Edward tosses it towards his own. Before I can argue his warm hands are on my back and all thoughts of cold are pushed from my mind.
My back slouches as the first touches of his fingers release a tension I didn't know I was harboring. His fingers lack the nails mine have, but the calming effort isn't lessoned. I fight back a moan and sigh heavily.
"That feels so good," I admit. His hand pushes my head down and he pulls me a little closer to him.
"I know. Shhhh, enjoy it," he answers I nod heavily and just enjoy the feeling. He mimics my earlier actions, his fingers drawing shapes and lines over my skin. I flinch as his fingers graze the sides of my ribs, urging him away from the ticklish spots. The only break in the fluid moments when his fingers catch on the clasp of my bra. He mutters something under his breath before undoing the clasp and pushing the straps to the side. My hands immediately go to my breasts, stopping the bra from falling off all-together. I can feel the tension return as the heat rises up my body. My heart is hammering at my chest and I'm frozen.
"Would you calm down? This can't be relaxing if you have a bra holding your shit together," he states. I try to let the tension leave, but it's not budging. The heat isn't leaving either. His hands work at my bare skin more urgently trying to compensate, but I'm too wound up. I finally pull away from his touch and smile at him over my shoulder.
"Thanks. I think that's enough," I breathe. I try to think of the best way to get my bra re-clasped and my shirt back on when he tugs on my arm, turning my body slightly to face him. His eyes are hooded and heavy as he reaches behind my neck and pulls my lips down to his. His lips move slowly over mine at first and I sigh a little and press the tip of my tongue forward. It's not in my nature to kiss people like I kiss him, but I can't help myself. His smiles against my lips and opens his mouth to me, letting me take control for once.
I ease my tongue into his mouth slowly tasting the salt and grease still lingering there. It tastes much better here then it did in my own mouth. I stroke his tongue with my own before snaking my tongue back and taking his bottom lip in between my own. He leans into my touch and I pull away, placing another kiss on his slightly parted lips before easing out of his hold.
Control is addictive and I like not being left open mouthed and gaping for more for once. I keep one arm firmly across my chest keeping my bra in place and I glance up at him through my lashes smiling a little.
"It really is pretty late," I point out. He reaches his hands around my back and clasps my bra, allowing my arm to rest. I drop it from my chest and regret it almost instantly as his eyes take in what my arm had been hiding. He drags his eyes slowly back up my body to my own eyes.
"Why don't you stay here? I'd rather cuddle you than Walt. Plus, crazy things happen to pretty girls that walk home by themselves in the middle of the night," he offers. I pause, pretending that I may have some intention of saying no, of denying him. He's already tugging on my arm and pulling me towards the bedroom before I answer.
"What about Finn?" I ask. He chuckles and tugs harder not deterred by my worry.
"Sleeps like the dead and will probably be thrilled to continue your story time in the morning," he quips. He nudges the bedroom door open with his foot and forgoes the lights. He tosses me a large white t-shirt and I sigh. It's just sleeping. That won't traumatize a child. Right?
"Ok," I finally whisper, not even sure if he can hear me. As I slip into his massive bed next to him, I think I may be in trouble. Danger really, of never being able to see my story without him in it.
I curl into myself and turn my head into the pillow, hiding, even in the dark. The bed dips and groans as Edward slides in and his arm is around me instantly pulling me back into him, warm and solid. I should really buy a real bed. That has to be the reason I feel so much more comfortable here. The real bed, the solid mattress.
His breath hits the back of my neck and I almost want to pull away from the moist heat.
"So why are all your friends on the computer?" he breathes. I turn my face further into the pillow. I thought this conversation was over. I am ready for it to be over. How do you explain that you just look better on paper, at a distance?
His hand traces up the back of my borrowed shit and makes large circles on my back. I can feel myself lean into his touch. The darkness and his fingers are drawing the answer from me.
"I keep starting over. I don't like where my story is going so I try to erase and keep going, but I collect people. Like other people collect shot glasses I guess," I sputter. The revelation is new even to me. So much better than simply I'm slightly socially challenged. His fingers falter for a moment before pressing even more urgently.
"What don't you like about your story?" he whispers. I swallow quickly and fight the urge to slip out of bed and away from his questions.
"That there isn't one. Nothing of note, nothing worthy of reading. I keep waiting for it to start, for something to happen," I admit. I pull away from his touch slightly, but his grip tightens and I'm flush against him again, his chin cradled in my shoulder.
"If you could have anything, put anything in your story, what would it be? What would you add to it?" he asks. My mind flies with the possibilities. My face appearing in so many the novels and movies I have loved, but that's not right. That's not what I want.
"You can't choose your story. That takes away half the excitement, the thrill. I just want to feel like I'm living, leaving my mark on something, someone," I sigh. I know it doesn't make sense. I can't ask for adventure and then refuse to choose what it would be. And yet that's exactly what I want.
"Well you're not going to find you excitement in that screen baby," he eases. I shift quickly and pull myself to the edge of the bed. He follows quickly, wrapping himself around me once again.
"No, don't leave. I don't want to upset you, but things don't just happen," he presses. I swallow my pride down and hide in the blankets and pillows. He doesn't get it. Doesn't understand what I mean. His story is so colorful, so full, why would he understand the worries of someone whose story has never started?
"Nevermind. Just forget it. Let's just settle on the fact that it's unfortunate that I bond better through a screen than in person," I state. I can feel him shake his head behind me and I clench my eyes shut willing this moment away.
"That's not true. We both know that. What are you afraid of? Getting hurt?" he prods. I feel my stomach sink at his questions. He's getting too close, too good at reading me.
"It's not about fear. I WANT my story to start. It's not knowing how to let anything amazing happen to me….but I'm getting better at that," I mutter. He doesn't need to know what he's helping my write my story. That no matter what end he chooses, his chapter will always be memorable.
"It gets easier, you know? Going for what you want, letting go of all that shit that holds you back? It gets easier with time," He assures me and if I wasn't already sure he was a hero figure that solidifies it. A yawn washes over me and I relax into him.
"Thank you for being in my story," I sigh. The sleep makes the regret that should follow my words impossible. My eyes droop and I am warm.
"Thanks for being in mine baby love," he whispers. I nod my reply and can feel my story hit a content moment. So this is what it feels like to share your story with someone.