Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer.
Welcome to the beginning of the drama, babes! :)
I'd really love to hear what your ideas are concerning this chapter and what it deals with. Please? :) You'll get a reply and a teaser of an outtake if you give me your ideas! ;) (It CAN be more than ONE idea!)
SONGS TO GO WITH THIS CHAPTER (sorry for the caps lock):
Tied Together With A Smile - Taylor Swift
Anybody - Jesse McCartney
Right Back In The Water - Jesse McCartney
You Didn't Have To Walk Away- Mitchell Musso (quiet! *shushes everyone* The lyrics fit)
We're in Pittsburgh at a signing today, and then we're off to New York. Pittsburgh isn't nearly as crowded as Los Angeles was, but it's still pretty in-fucking-sane. I try to enjoy it—and normally I do—but today I just can't. Last night, I started to feel . . . down, I guess you could say. I couldn't sleep much, and then Angela was on my ass to get ready immediately—it's becoming too much. A guy who is probably around Edward and my age—mid-twenties—comes up, smiling.
"Hey," he says.
I nod at him with a smile of my own.
"Hi, how are you?" I ask, trying to be polite.
It appears that he's the last one in line; I can't help but thank God that it's almost over, and that we fly to New York soon.
"I'm good—it's great to finally see you person though," he tells me, grinning.
I nod and ask him if he wants anything signed. He shows me his forearm.
"I wanna get it tattooed right after this—have ya ever considered a tat?" he asks as I lean over to sign his upper arm.
I give him a wry glance, and smirk.
"Nah, I'm not much into permanently painting my body—I do enjoy seeing them done though, and pictures." I finish signing.
He nods, grinning.
"I had a one question," he tells me.
"Shoot," I say.
"Would you, maybe, wanna go out sometime? There's a great place where we can eat, and hang out," he says with hope.
I smirk and sit back down.
"Sorry, I really am, but I don't think I'm allowed. My agent would flip her shi—stuff," I say, rolling my eyes.
The dude sighs.
"I see; it was worth a try I guess. Hey, a dude can dream and hope, right?" He smiles.
I grin back.
"Absolutely! Continue to dream and hope, and see what comes to ya. Thanks for coming!"
He waves and I wave back as he leaves.
I see Angela off to the side near the exit, giving me a look of curiosity; I wonder what's on her mind, but I'm too tired to ponder it much further.
We arrive shortly in New York.
It's past 9pm and I'm exhausted. I eat a little at the hotel restaurant, and then fall into bed right after texting Edward that I landed in New York City safe and sound.
He doesn't reply.
It's 7am sharp and I feel as though my heart's going to drop out of my chest. Angela is standing next to me, staring at my phone.
It's over I guess. I love you, but leave me alone. I sincerely hope ur happy. –e
What is this?
I turn to Angela, wide-eyed and worried, bordering on scared.
"I know how you feel Bella, but you have an interview coming up in six hours," she tells me, actually looking sympathetic.
I barely hear her, though; my mind is on calling Edward and getting answers that I deserve.
In the hotel room that overlooks the Hudson, I put my cell to my ear and wait for him to pick up; I've called three times, he should answer by now. It's Edward though, and just like me, he likes to ignore things.
"Hello," he says, sounding hoarse and horrible.
I bite my lip.
"Hello," he says again. "I know you're there, Bella."
I flinch a little.
"Uh, hey," I finally say.
"W-what do you want?"
"What the fuck is going on?" I ask, ignoring his question.
"What do you mean? You said—you told me you wanted to focus on your career, and in order to do that, you can't be worrying about my shit and issues," he tells me.
"I never . . . Edward, I never said that!" I yell.
"It's fine, B, really," he lies. "I understand how important your writing and career is to you."
I put my hand to my mouth, trying not to cry.
"E-Edward, I never fucking said anything about that! Shit, I need you in my life!"
"Honestly Bella, stop lying okay? I have Seth, and Emma, so you can go off to do whatever you want. I always supported you in this, so I'll let you go, even if it kills me inside."
His voice—the tone of it—is almost dead, like he's been drained of any and all emotion.
"Edward—" I start.
He cuts me off.
"Like I said, I'm gonna let you go—I love you, but apparently that isn't enough."
"Please, please, I need you," I say, close to tears.
He sighs.
"I'm sorry, baby. You did this, though."
"I need you," I whisper.
"Yeah . . . I need you too. Goodbye B," he says.
"Wait!" I say quickly.
"What?"
I take in a shuddering deep breath.
"I love you, I swear that I do, Edward," I say in a low voice.
"Yeah . . . okay," he says, and I don't think he believes me anymore.
He hangs up after that, and I'm left standing near the large window that is showing the river and part of the city. I clutch my phone in my hands and cry.
I'm getting ready for the interview that is airing live. It's with Alec Volturi, one of the big talk show hosts in New York. I walk out onto the stage in a tight, short black dress that is strapless—I hate anything strapless—and four, maybe five inch dark-red heels. I sit down after shaking his hand, and wave to the cheering crowd; I feel miserable, though.
"So," Alec says. "It's already surfacing on the Net, and I'm sure you've heard about it," he hints.
My stomach rolls with we're about to talk about.
"I think I-I know," I say, trying to smile.
He nods, smirking.
"So, is it true then? Have you and the unnamed guy from the concert broken up?"
I sigh and give the usual answer. . .
I'm on another talk show right after Alec Volturi's. This time it's Levi Masen, an older guy in his sixties.
"Break-ups are tough, aren't they?" he asks, a fake sympathetic look on his plastic, surgically-enhanced face.
I sigh and swallow.
"Honestly, I lit-literally just answered this not an hour ago, man. My personal life is private, and I'd like to keep it that way. I'm—I'm not gonna out the person who might or might not have broken-up with me just 'cause I might be pissed off, hurt, or whatever, you know?" I throw in a tiny laugh. "I—I know that people—fans included—are interested in my life, what I do when I'm not signing or doing interviews, but really, my life is private."
When I get back to the hotel that night, I throw myself onto the bed after changing clothes, getting into my comfy PJs. I cry myself into a restless slumber.