A/n: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. However, I, under the penname listed above, do own this story, plot and its variations. I prefer it not to be plagiarized and thank you in advance.
For those of you who have seen the cover pic of RP's Details photoshoot... that is the absolute epitome of how I envision this Edward. Right down to the smirk.
Endless thanks to quothme, a beta so awesome she's practically an alpha.
Chapter Four
The minute Bella got home, she rushed to her computer, eager to do research on the strange phenomenon that was Edward. She wrenched her laptop open and poised her fingers over the computer, savoring the hum of energy running through the machine beneath her hand, energy that emulated her own excitement.
And then she stared at the Google homepage for thirty seconds. What was she supposed to enter in the 'search' field?
'What is Edward Cullen?'
'Why can't any woman resist Edward Cullen?'
'Why did Rose sleep with Edward Cullen?'
She had no idea what to begin with—if seduction was Edward's sickness, then what were the symptoms? Being too good looking? Being charming?
Stepping back from her desk, a frown on her face and a furrow on her forehead, Bella decided she wasn't at the point where she was ready to collect information yet. The big brown eyes, breasts and beautiful female friends hid it well, but Bella Swan wasn't above embracing her inner nerd and her childhood introvert impulses. She and Edward hadn't gotten an 'A' on their research project on his merit alone—she had a rapacious appetite for knowledge and a methodical madness to her collection of it. And she was nowhere near ready for the big bad World Wide Web yet—for goodness' sake, she was only on step two of the scientific method! But step one was complete, if slightly oversimplified. She had her question: what was Edward Cullen? Now, the next move: observation.
If Bella's eyes hadn't glazed over in dreamy distraction, she would have seen her reflection in her dresser mirror and been appalled. Eyes lost in a lusty haze, smile ever so salacious, heart palpitating in the pending promise of observing Edward, she had the look of a wanton woman who was going to enormously enjoy this experiment.
[-]
A few hours later, Bella was in the fresh produce aisle of the grocery store, absently squeezing various vegetables and fruits before depositing them back. Her slovenly movements betrayed the furious speed of her mind, various thoughts competing in a dead heat for her comprehension. She was trying to mentally catalogue all her moments with Edward, in his new avatar as well as his old, looking for some sort of clue.
She was contemplating his, for lack of a better word, sluttiness as she moved away from the fridges into the cereal aisle. It incensed her to no end, but for some reason, she couldn't honestly say that she found him unappealing. There was something about him, a vague quality that she couldn't quite grasp. It was like whenever he was around, he created a smoke screen that clouded the brain, making it impenetrable to everything but his movements, his words, just him.
Suddenly, she felt a cool breeze, like she was back at the freezers. She shivered, looked up and jumped slightly when she saw the very devil she had been thinking of standing next to her.
"How do you do that?" Bella asked.
"Do what?" Edward replied, nonchalantly browsing cereal boxes.
"How do you appear out of nowhere?" Mentally, Bella was adding that to the list of strange abilities Edward seemed to possess but she could feel the edges of the smog that blanketed her brain whenever he was near start to creep in.
"Maybe you're just unobservant," he shot back.
"Thanks," Bella said dryly. Edward grinned at her widely.
"Would you prefer this?" he said, before running out of the aisle without further explanation. Seconds later, he returned, shouting rather loudly, "Hey Bella! Hey Bellaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" His grin was wide and playful.
"What was that?" Bella asked in disbelief, eyes round and surprised. Edward looked at her incredulously, as if she should have already known.
"That was me channeling Brando playing Stanley Kowalski, of course."
"Of course," Bella said, tone tinged with sarcasm, as she allowed herself to smile. Edward let out a deep laugh, almost a chortle, that was different than his usual taunting, teasing, tantalizing chuckle. Combined with his previous actions and shouts, it made him seem playful, free and childlike. She held up the book in her hand. "You're a Brando fan?"
"I'm a big fan of Tennessee Williams."
"You are?"
"Sure." Edward's voice dropped from a laughing lilt to a serious but eager tone. "Aside from his work, he wrote one of my favorite quotes. 'A prayer for the wild at heart, kept in cages.'" Bella stared at him. Her mind couldn't help but take that slightly literally—after all, there was something wild about Edward, something inhuman. To her, it was more supernatural than savage, but still. The quote fit.
"That's… um, beautiful," Bella replied nervously. "I'm doing a project on it for English, where I have to epitomize the play in five quotes."
"That sounds pretty interesting. Williams' every word is practically a sound bite," Edward remarked. His gaze and his voice deepened with uncharacteristic and earnest seriousness. "One comes to mind right now: 'I like you to be exactly the way you are, because in all my experience, I have never known anyone like you.'" His eyes searched hers as if willing her to understand the meaning, but Bella couldn't focus on anything but the golden rays in front of her.
Edward's chin was down, his eyes unblinking and sincere and his signature smirk was nowhere on his face. It was like their surroundings had fallen away. It was like everything had halted to travel in slow motion—but there was no motion. Like her, Edward was standing stock-still, his gaze locked on her. She felt an immense connection to him in that moment, as if there was a thread that linked her to him.
But damn it all if Edward didn't remain a mystery. A few seconds after seemingly revealing pieces of himself to her, he abruptly broke the connection that had been formed by his cute confession-cum-quotation.
"Bye, Bella," he said, his pursed lips widening into a grin, his errant eyebrow popping up. Bella blinked a few times, dazedly emerging from the moment, his words rendering the tenuous thread between them torn. Like the delayed feeling of relief when one catches oneself before falling, Bella heard the blood rush in her ears, her pulse pounding percussively. She was disoriented without Edward's sure, steady gaze to anchor her, and her brain was awash in a sea of sensations.
Edward stepped forward, frowning slightly as Bella instinctively inched back, and lightly brushed his index finger across her nose. The tip tingled from his touch and for a moment, she felt like she was drowning in his mint-and-midnight smell.
Just as suddenly as he appeared, Edward was gone.
She saw him again as she approached the checkout line. He was walking to the exit, twirling his keys around his indecently long, lithe index finger. Mrs. Clearwater chose that moment to place her hand on his arm and greet him.
Intrigued as to how he knew Mrs. Clearwater, Bella inched closer to catch a few snatches of their conversation. It briefly ran through her mind that maybe he'd slept with her as well, but the gentle, matronly way she was speaking with the boy dissuaded Bella from that notion.
"How are your parents, Edward?"
"Oh, they're fine. My dad is running low on that fish fry Harry makes. He'll be around for some soon, I expect," Edward replied amicably.
"Have you kept in touch with Leah, dear?" Mrs. Clearwater asked. At the question, Edward looked around surreptitiously to see if there was anyone listening. Bella quickly ducked her head down and pretended to be engrossed in whether she'd like her teeth whitened or breath freshened from her choice of chewing gum.
"Um… no, I'm afraid not. How is she?" Edward said. He was mumbling, his wind-chime voice without its usual mellifluous, molten flow. Bella snuck a peek at him. He looked… nervous, eyes darting around, completely uncomfortable. He looked nothing like his normal, self-satisfied, self-confident self. He looked like Bella's lab partner from last year.
"She's good. Enjoying college in Chicago, although she says that pizza is far too good for her to maintain her figure. Seth says hello as well," she continued. "He always asks how you are. It'll be nice to tell him I ran into you. You seem to be everywhere and nowhere at the same time, Edward."
Bella resisted the urge to snort. Even Mrs. Clearwater had noticed. And how did Edward know Leah and Seth Clearwater? The twins had graduated two years ago and both attended the University of Chicago.
"Yes, please say hello to them for me and tell them I'll send an email or something as soon as possible." Edward's words were polite but perfunctory, a clear sign to anyone but an adult that he wasn't interested in continuing the conversation.
"Well, maybe you can go back again to visit some time soon. Seth says he had such a wonderful time with you and Leah last summer, and he has so few male friends," Mrs. Clearwater continued, oblivious. Bella's mind was racing. She had known that Edward had spent the summer in Chicago… but apparently he had either stayed with or spent a lot of time with Leah and Seth Clearwater. And sometime over that summer, he had transformed from Edward Cullen, geeky, gawky loser lab partner to Edward Cullen, paranormally potent, possibly supernatural seducer.
Mrs. Clearwater was still rambling, unaware of Edward's increasing discomfort and his rapidly diminishing discourse. "And of course, you look so handsome now, Edward. Ever since you've come back from Chicago, it's clear that you're no longer Elizabeth's little boy. You're a man now." At this declaration, Edward's keys slipped off his fingers and flew to the floor. He quickly excused himself from Mrs. Clearwater and walked over to retrieve his keys. Bella, watching from the corner of her eyes, noticed that he let out a deep breath as soon as he was away from the older woman and couldn't help but be surprised. Implacable, imperturbable Edward, who strutted around Forks like a princely peacock, his beautiful plumage always on display, had his feathers ruffled by a harmless little lady.
But Bella—and the rest of the patrons'—attention was snatched and refocused on one singular sight. Edward had bent over to retrieve his fallen keys. The whole grocery store, not a single man in sight, drew in a collective breath and stared. There are words, of course, for that particular body part. And there are adjectives to describe it—delectable derriere, round rump, bountiful buns, fleshy fanny, beautiful booty, taut tush, hot heinie, work-of-art wazoo, astonishing ass, the list goes on ad nauseam. But none of those, even put together, were enough to describe the sight at the front of Forks Supermart. As Edward stood up and strolled out of the store, all the shoppers let out a sigh in unison.
Later, as Bella was waiting to pay, she couldn't help but overhear Mrs. Clearwater speak to Afton, the checkout girl at the next register. Apparently, the maternal matron act she had used around Edward was just that—an act. Like everyone else, she was not immune to Edward and was now, with all the enthusiasm of a teenybopper, agreeing with Afton's assessment of Edward in loud, libidinous tones.
"Good lord, Narcissus himself would take a break to look at that boy. Every time he bends over, I say Mazel Tov. To myself, for being lucky enough to witness it. I'm not even Jewish! If God created Edward in his image, then a-men, I cannot wait to meet my maker," she said, raising her hands and dropping them like she was part of a gospel choir in church. She grinned lecherously before adding, "I'm not even Christian."
But Bella thought the woman was dead wrong. Edward had nothing to do with God. If he wasn't Lucifer himself, then he had to be created in his image because he screamed of sin.
[-]
For all his affinity and appeal with the female sex, Edward generally avoided much interaction with the male gender. Some speculated that this was because he had no use for them—he didn't appear particularly interested in seducing men. Others theorized that this was because, in his rhythmical ruination of Forks' feminine virtue, he had stepped on some toes—ex-boyfriends, potential amours, even current flings. Although, adding to his peculiarity, no guy had persecuted him for it, he had not befriended anyone either.
His limited friends, male or otherwise, were in Chicago, people who he had met over the past summer, one of awakenings and metamorphoses. In theory, Seth Clearwater could be considered a friend, though his intentions were decidedly not. Edward had merely put up with it because of all the time he was spending with Leah. In fact, the only male peer Edward could actually say he considered more than an acquaintance was Jasper, who had spent some of the summer also visiting Leah after he graduated before returning briefly to Forks.
Edward simply wasn't a guy's guy.
So it was a great misfortune that one day Edward found himself in conversation—if you could call it that—with the epitome of male miscreants, Mike Newton and Tyler Crowley. He was then subjected to one of the worst dialogues thus far in his life. Newton looked completely ridiculous with his over-gelled hair cemented in a bad emulation of Edward's perpetual bed head, but it was Tyler who really pushed the boundaries of bad taste. His hair, crinkly and crimped and mildly resembling that of an afro, was styled like Edward's as well. But the texture of his hair had rendered it so that his entire coif was a vertical pillar of matted black hair, vaguely reminiscent of Butthead. This was not altogether inappropriate, since Tyler's behavior was more than just vaguely reminiscent of the animated idiot.
"What's your secret, Cullen?" Tyler demanded. He and Beavis—Mike—had cornered Edward on the field after gym. Though they weren't standing very close to him, their rank, rancid, slightly scarily sour body odor had a blanketing effect, leaving Edward feeling rather claustrophobic despite being outdoors. "What do you do that has all these ladies smiling like the Cheshire pussy?"
Edward arched his eyebrow. "I believe the character's name was the Cheshire Cat." His tone was similar to someone who had just declared that they had stepped on gum—irritated and disgusted but never losing its cool disinterest.
Tyler grinned. "Yeah, but I made it clever see because… like cats are sometimes called pussies and pussies are you know... and it's sex, man. You know... Sex!" he declared excitedly, shooting a nod at his partner in grime, Newton. Mike matched his gesture in approval.
"I'm familiar with the concept," Edward said, icy disdain in his clipped tones.
Newton jumped into the conversation. "So spit it out, Cullen. What's your master weapon?"
Edward said nothing for a few moments, merely contemplating the morons in front of him. His smirk had emerged slightly when he finally said, "The Chinese philosopher Lao Tsu once said, 'a good traveler has no fixed plans and isn't intent on arriving.'"
Tyler and Mike looked at each in puzzlement for a few seconds before Crowley spoke excitedly. "So you mean like, we shouldn't care about coming? Like you were trying to be clever because 'arriving' and 'coming' are, like, the same word? Forget that man, just tell us what happened. Last year, you were the world's biggest loser—no offense—and this year you're like... a cuntosseiur."
Newton's head swung in Tyler's direction. "A cuntosseiur?"
Tyler nodded in affirmation. "A connoisseur of cunt."
"Nice! High five," the blond replied, affecting a silly Borat accent.
"I got another one," Tyler said excitedly. "The pundit of poon!"
"The poondit!"
"Nice!" This time, they managed to complete their exulted high five before turning back to Edward.
"So seriously, Cullen. What did that quote mean?" Mike asked.
Edward smiled sublimely, like he was the cat just toying with two idiotic canaries. "Just think about it." In reality, the quote had no connection to the topic at hand. But Edward knew that Mike and Tyler would spend an inordinate amount of time trying to dissect it and he could escape in the meanwhile.
As he was walking back to the school, he looked over to the far side of the field and saw Bella, her back to him, sitting on the bleachers. Changing directions, he began to jog over to her. She had a book open in front of her, her head resting on her hand, and it looked like she was staring into the distance. As he got closer, he realized Bella's gaze wasn't seeing anything—she was asleep.
But behind her closed lids, Bella was seeing something. She was having a vivid dream about Edward being in her bedroom. He had somehow magically appeared and was sitting on the bed next to her. When she had inquired how he had gotten there, he had motioned with uncharacteristic bashfulness towards the window. Her bedroom was dark, with only her desk lamp outlining his Patrician profile, nose straight, jaw all angles and heavy crest of his brow bone. Clearly, it was a dream as it was hot and muggy in the room—she was wearing a sleep-shirt and practically non-existent shorts while Edward was wearing thin sweats and a thinner t–shirt. As he placed his arm behind her to lean into her body, she could see the outline of his chest. She could feel the soft fabric brush against her arm, like a promising whisper. His body weighed down the bed like his presence weighed down the tension in the room and his eyes could not pick a spot. They roamed up her bare legs, almost palpable in their intensity, feeling like the feather touch of hands. They searched her face like a lover's caress, roved over her breasts like a only a man's eyes can and finally settled to meet her gaze.
This Edward had all the charm and beauty of her current lab partner and his golden eyes were shining. He looked at Bella with a gentleness that made her feel precious and pure but a hunger that made her feel feminine and feral. As she licked her lips, mirroring her thoughts, she saw Edward's eyes flick to them, burning bright like oil lamps with a deep, moist heat. She asked him what he was doing here (in her bedroom—even if she wouldn't admit it, she had a good idea of what he was doing in her fantasies) and was surprised to hear his words.
Well, not his words, which were simple enough. "I've always wanted to try one thing."
And not his actions, which were direct enough. He was leaning ever so slowly into her.
What caught her off guard was the way he spoke and the way he hesitated. He stumbled and tripped over his words, telling her "don't move" and to "hold still" with a stutter, almost whispering them. He looked like her lab partner of this year, but his demeanor was that of her shy project partner from last year, and she was surprised to find how much she liked this amalgamation.
Even his approach was shy as he hovered, their noses touching, his long eyelashes brushing her cheeks, asking her for permission to press his lips to hers. She moved a fraction of a millimeter closer in acquiescence and closed her eyes in anticipation of his kiss when suddenly, inexplicably, he whispered three words that nonsensically caused Bella's heart to soar.
"I prefer brunettes."
Bella was about to close the distance herself when he began calling—rather loudly, compared to the euphonious tones of his previous words—"Bella! Hey, Bella!"
Startled, she opened her eyes to see the very subject of her dreams grinning at her. But this was no shy, sweet Edward. This boy—man, even—was looking at her with sex in his stare and a smirk on his lips.
"Hold still," his voice intoned ominously. But his words were so similar to some of the last words his counterpart had said in her dream that they automatically caused Bella to jerk away from him. "Whoa there," he said, like he was calming a bucking horse. "There's something in your hair." His fingers reached toward her scalp and he gently ran his fingers through a few strands of her hair, never breaking their gaze. He held his palm out to show her a piece of lint.
"Sorry," Bella said, gathering the books strewn around her and attempting to do the same for her scattered wits. "I must have fallen asleep."
"Yeah, I thought I'd wake you up just in case you missed the bell. Fourth period is almost up."
"Thank you," she replied, both pleasantly surprised and surprisingly pleased at his thoughtfulness.
"As Blanche says, 'I have always depended on the kindness of strangers,'" Edward said, holding up Bella's copy of A Streetcar Named Desire.
"We're hardly strangers, Edward," Bella corrected. As always, despite her reservations about him, she never failed to be drawn into an exchange with him. Perhaps it was because Edward participated in dialogue, as opposed to alternating monologues like so many people did, giving it the misnomer of conversation. His replies were as good as the retorts he got. Which made Bella wonder what else he gave as good as he got.
"You're hardly anything," he replied, eyes darkening slightly. His stare felt like a scorching ray of sun, leaving Bella hot and bothered. "You, Miss Bella Swan, are a lady, soft in everything, as you should be. Leave it to us guys to be hard."
Bella stopped breathing. Her heartbeat sped up. Her mouth went dry. And another part of her had the opposite reaction.
Edward met her eyes, stripping her of all thoughts, all words, leaving her as naked as the desire that shone in his look. Feeling like she was about to end up physically naked of her own volition if she didn't stop looking at Edward, Bella broke their gaze.
"So still at it with Streetcar, hmm?" Edward asked. "Found any quotes yet?"
"A couple. Not enough."
"Can I help?"
"Please." The words were out of Bella's mouth before she could contemplate their meaning. The mere presence of Edward seemed to have some strange sort of voodoo effect on her.
"So… you're looking for quotes, right? Well, there's the obvious one about the actual streetcar," Edward said. He picked up the slim novel and flipped through it easily, stopping at a page and holding the book towards her, indicating where she should began reading.
With a shaky voice, Bella read, '"But there are things that happen, between a man and a woman, in the dark—" she flushed a furious crimson, recalling her dream and lamenting her decision to read the passage out loud—"that sorta make everything else seem unimportant.'" Edward pulled the book towards him and continued reading.
"'What you are talking about is brutal desire. Just desire. The name of that rattletrap streetcar that bangs through the Quarter, up one old narrow street and down another.'" Bella looked at him to see his eyes on her, not the novel. "'Haven't you ever ridden that streetcar?'" He held her gaze for a few moments, as if expecting an answer. And Bella knew what her answer would have been, if she could have found a way to speak: Yes, she had ridden that streetcar. In fact, she was riding it right now… and was considering what else she could ride. But before she could open her mouth and shame herself, Edward broke eye contact and turned back to the book.
"That's a little blatant, of course. There's this wonderful one by Blanche, where… oh, here it is. Blanche is talking to Mitch about one of the hotels she used to live in… 'Tarantula Arms'," he continued. He pointed out the passage and read it out to her. "And then she says, 'Yes, a big spider. That's where I brought my victims. Yes, I've had many meetings with strangers.' She finally reveals herself for what she truly is."
Bella hadn't been paying much attention to what Edward was saying, preferring to focus on how his lips caressed each word he spoke, but with that quote, she snapped out of her lazy, lusty haze. He had said "victims." Well, Blanche DuBois had said it, but he had repeated it. And "victims" was a strange word—it implied a predatory/prey relationship, something she was strongly beginning to associate with Edward and his conquests.
She didn't quite know what to reply to his suggestions. Of course, he was just helping her with her project, but a strange panic had flooded through her. It stemmed from the fact that on one hand, she was dreaming about, lusting after, drooling over Edward, while on the other, he was fueling her suspicions that he wasn't normal, wasn't human. She thought that consideration alone would have caused her attraction to wane but it was, if anything, getting stronger. With each action, Edward somehow simultaneously fanned her fears, while revealing himself to be intelligent or funny or very likable. The constant streams of paradoxical thoughts running through her head were maddening and she felt quite on edge.
Luckily, at that moment, Bella was saved by the bell. She quickly let a sigh of relief as she and Edward parted ways to attend their respective classes. His knowledge of the play had been impressive and astounding, but the underlying implications of the quotes he had chosen—especially since Bella had pretty much made up her mind that Edward was not normal and perhaps wild at more than just heart—was more than just a little disconcerting.
[-]
After a dinner spent in front of the droning television with Charlie, Bella rushed upstairs. Her latest observation of Edward, while intriguing, wasn't helpful because she still had no idea what to look for. She decided to take a fastidious approach and list all the traits Edward was displaying—that way she could note when he did something particularly odd, like appear out of nowhere. A few minutes later, as she reviewed what she had written, the thought crossed her mind that she may as well have been looking at the list of characteristics held by every male character ever to appear in a harlequin romance. Among her list of Edwardian traits were 'mysterious', 'seductive', 'strong', 'irresistible', 'dangerous' and… she realized she had written 'astonishingly attractive' three times. So much for scientific objectivity, she thought as she snorted out loud.
She picked up her copy of A Streetcar Named Desire, deciding to finish at least one project and smiling in spite of herself at both Edward's amendment of Brando's most infamous line and his vast knowledge of the book. She flipped it open and was surprised that the first quote she saw was the one Edward had spoken to her in the grocery store.
"I like you to be exactly the way you are, because in all my experience, I have never known anyone like you."
She considered their "moment" in the store, in all its soulful staring, heart racing glory. That was probably one of the nicest things anyone had ever said to Bella—if that was indeed the idea that Edward was trying to convey to her. But if so, why was he hooking up with everyone but her? In fact, just today she had seen him be led—no actually, pretty much bodily dragged by his collar—out of the cafeteria by Bree Charles (to which Rosalie had dryly commented, "Bree. Aggressive. Br- Ee aggressive" in mimicry of the cheerleading chant).
But she couldn't focus on whether Edward liked her or not when there was so much else for her to think about. Like maybe whether she liked Edward. And, more importantly, whether Edward was even safe to like. She read the quote again. It was easily something she could turn around on him. She most definitely had never known anyone like him. But did she like him exactly the way he was? If her dream was any indication, then not quite. She clearly appreciated the confidence and the looks but apparently, her fickle heart had unknowingly retained a space for hyper-intelligent, uber shy, stuttering lab partner she had so thoughtlessly dismissed. Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she attempted to turn back to the task at hand and flipped to another quote.
"I don't want realism. I want magic! Yes, yes, magic. I try to give that to people. I do misrepresent things. I don't tell truths. I tell what ought to be truth," it read. But Bella's mind had already wandered away from the quote and back to the topic that seemed ever-present in her mind. Maybe she could ask Edward himself to write the list of his own oddities—after all, he had so ably listed each and every topic they had ever considered for their own project and had scrawled it down in his scrunched, busy cursive. She had just seen the list a few days ago.
And that was the first time Bella Swan had the craziest thought she had ever dared to think.
[-]
Let your mind start a journey through a strange new world,
Leave all thoughts of life you knew before…
As always, most importantly: Thank you for reading! I love love LOVE your reactions and theories as to what exactly is going on- it makes me write more enthusiastically. I appreciate everyone, giving Slut/Hussy/Whore/Incubus/Rebornward your time. He appreciates it and drops his keys every time someone reviews. He also salaciously smiles at me every time I use alliteration or consonance so now you know why I write the way I do.
Also How I Met Your Mother is my favorite show, which is where this story's name came from (plus i couldn't think of anything better). Those of you who pick up the HIMYM refs I drop and those of you who include some in your reviews (esp you appletree123) get a Computer-Five. Yes I really high fived my comp right then. You should too. I know when you don't comp five!