All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Plagiarism is theft. No copying or reproduction of this work in any language is permitted without the express written authorization of the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. Thank you. March 2010.
Thanks as ever to my extremely talented beta, xrxdanixrx-who's also provided awesome banner on Twilighted! Check out her stories Hate Me, Here We Go Again and Don't Try To Save Me. Is there nothing you can't do? You rock hun!
Well...I wanted a reaction and I got one :) Some of you wanted to hang Edward after the last chapter, and kill Alice for her master plan. Edward has some seriously deep rooted problems, and has only thought about himself for too long. Sometimes, you have to hit rock bottom before you can start your way back. Let's not forget, Edward was terribly hurt in his last relationship, and has a less than stellar role model in Carlisle. What he feels for Bella is powerful and he's only been able to get his feelings out through his painting as she refuses to let him explain himself. They both have a lot of work to do, lets see what's next for these two, shall we?
Hope you enjoy and as ever, let me know what you think.
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EPOV
Chapter 10
Fuck, karma is a bitch. This is payback. Payback for all the women I've fucked and never called again. For all the women whose names I didn't even remember or bother to get. For all the times I've been a jackass.
I can only remember feeling this horrible about my pathetic excuse of a love life one other time. Then, it was Angela who was fucking around, this time, it's me. And I'm not even technically fucking around, so why does it seem like I am? Like she said, I'm nothing to her. Why do I care what she thinks? Why can't I seem to get her out of my head?
I told her the truth tonight. I went back to see her, to try to pick a day that she wanted to do the painting. And then Lauren…yes, that's her name…Lauren, was coming out of the building, pushing my buttons when I just wanted to see Bella. And I probably let her go on for longer than I should have. But, as she pushed me up against the wall, I was limp…again. Part of me wanted to see if I could actually ever be hard without thinking about Bella. The answer is a resounding no.
As I slink my way back to my car, I wonder if I should go to see if Lauren is still there. That was pretty shitty, even for me. The girl was on her knees for fucks sake, and I just left her there without a single word. I know I need to apologize to her. I round the corner and scan the building, but she's gone.
The familiar burst of adrenaline that accompanies me any time I'm in Bella's presence is back in full force. The blood courses through my veins relentlessly, and I know the only way I'm going to release this pent up frustration, is to get back to the studio.
I don't remember driving back to the loft or what route I took to get here. I only know that right now, I'm standing in front of canvas number five. It's smaller than the others and actually looks fragile, delicate, like if I make one brush stroke too hard, the whole thing will fall apart in front of me.
I don't remember plugging my iPod into the docking station, but Vivaldi's Summer pours out to me. The colour choices are less vibrant, more somber, as I poor every ounce of my regret, my sorrow, my mistakes into this. A dark grey jagged mass surrounded by weakening splashes of muted colour, fading off the frame and out of my life.
This one takes less time. A mere two hours later, I drop my brush to the floor and dip my smaller brush robotically into the black paint. I feel an unfamiliar wetness on my cheeks, and I pause as the canvas blurs momentarily in front of me.
I paint my initials in the corner. They don't even look like mine. Nothing is the same as I grip the brush in my hand and take the walk of shame to my empty bed.
The rain is pounding down relentlessly when I roll my sorry self out of bed in the morning. The droplets smear off the windows and blur the otherwise stellar view of Vancouver harbour. The brush that seems to have been my companion in bed last night has rolled onto the floor where paint now stains the hardwood.
I feel like I'm hung over. I'm appalled at the pathetic reflection in front of me as I stand in front of the bathroom mirror, gripping the sink. I couldn't look like more of a sorry fuck if I tried. I stand in the shower, turning it on full blast, but not even bothering to let it warm before I get in. It's scalding me in about a minute, and I simply can't even bring myself to care. My skin is beat red when I emerge from the shower stall. The bathroom is filled with steam as I stand naked and dripping onto the ceramic tile, and try to contemplate what the fuck I'm going to do.
I'm fully aware that I've probably lost any chance I ever had with Bella...if there even was a remote possibility. Still, I'm also aware that this fucked up fiasco has led to the best work I've ever done in my life. I feel guilty and proud of myself in equal measure, and it makes me feel sick to my stomach that the more I screw up, the better I seem to paint.
The canvas from last night has dried and I cover it up, moving to commence the methodic clean up process. Once things are as good as they can be, I decide to make myself some coffee. I'm sure there's instant around here somewhere. I think I remember Jane bringing it over at some point. She is always in a hurry in the morning…not that I'm complaining. Getting her out of the loft is always something I try to do as quickly as possible. My stomach rolls as I think about how pathetic I really am.
I find the instant shit in the back corner of one of my cupboards and plug the kettle in. I know I'm going nowhere today. There's a full day of painting calling my name.
A knock at the door stirs me away from watching the fascinating kettle. I pull the door open as Jane stands there in a full length red trench coat, a patented Burberry umbrella hoisted over her head. She's not impressed.
I simply turn away from her and walk back into the kitchen, leaving the door open. I hear her shut the door and deposit the umbrella on the floor. The click of her high heels over the hardwood is doing nothing for my mood.
"To what do I owe the pleasure this morning, Jane? I'm busy."
"Are you painting in just a towel these days?" She cocks her head to the side and stares back at me. I'm only now aware that I haven't even gotten dressed this morning. The white towel is hanging on by a literal thread off my hips.
"I just got out of the shower," I answer, filling my cup with water and stirring the nasty instant coffee.
"You look like shit, Edward," she acknowledges.
"You're not exactly the picture of beauty yourself, Jane." I leave the spoon on the counter and turn back to her. "Why are you here?"
"You owe me an update," she says, trying to stare me down.
"I don't owe you anything, Jane. I told you I'd call you when I'm ready. I'm not ready."
"You've been painting. I can smell it," she says, staring up the stairs towards the studio. She's only got one foot on the stairs before my hand is on her arm roughly pulling her back.
"You know better than to go up there, Jane." I issue her a warning and she backs off the stair.
"At least I know you're painting. That's something, I guess. Any idea on when it's going to be ready?" she asks. Jesus, she's more pushy than normal today.
"I don't know." I turn and walk back to sit on one of the stools at the counter.
"You seem tense. Trouble in paradise with the Misses?" she asks sarcastically, moving to sit beside me at the counter. I take a sip of coffee and it tastes like shit. I scowl and try to ignore her. "Edward, this mood is doing nothing for you. Let me help." She puts her hand on my thigh, moving the towel slightly as she digs her fake nails into my skin.
"Jane, give it a rest." I glare at her, but she's not backing down.
"Edward, I know what you like, what you need," she whispers into my ear. "I know you like it rough sometimes, is she not into that?"
"Jane, you need to stop," I snarl.
"Come on, baby." Her hand finds my flaccid dick and she sits back staring at me, her eyes wide. "Oh, Edward, you really are having a problem. Since when is the great Edward Cullen not hard?"
I push back from the counter and stand up, marching to the door and hauling it open.
"Thanks for stopping by, Jane. I'll let you know once I'm ready."
She saunters towards me, sashaying her hips, and staring at me like she's some kind of lioness on the prowl. Apparently, that's supposed to turn me on. "Hmm, I could make you ready if you just let me, Edward." She runs her hand down my exposed torso.
"Goodbye, Jane."
"I'll call you soon," she purrs. She pats me on the cheek and grabs her umbrella, pushing it up and disappearing down the street.
I slam the door and make my way back to the counter. I pour the coffee down the sink and lean over it, trying not to vomit.
Several minutes go by before I make my way up to the studio. I lean in the doorway and stare at the frames before me. Emotion comes pouring out of me as I grab my palette and move to the tubes of paint. They're no longer crisp like they were just a few short days ago. Now, they're worn and I'm almost out of a few colours. I shake my head at how out of it I've been. I'll have to make a trip to the supply store before I get going.
I start to make my way upstairs to get dressed when another knock comes through the door.
Oh fuck, she's back, and now I'm officially pissed off.
I launch to the door and haul it open. "For fucks sake, Jane! Can you not take a fucking hint?!" My heart stops beating, and my mouth hangs open as realization hits. My eyes slide down and meet hers. She looks shocked, angry, annoyed, perhaps slightly turned on…ok, that's probably more me than her.
She crosses her arms and cocks her head to the side.
"Bella," I breathe. Fuck, what is she doing here? I suddenly realize I'm just standing, holding the door, practically naked, staring with my mouth open as the rain pours down in sheets, drenching her. She's completely soaked as she stares back at me with the cool expression I've come to know, and if I'm being honest, crave.
"Come in, get out of the rain!" I grab her arm and yank her inside. She takes a step in eyeing me suspiciously, and whips her arm from my grasp.
"Expecting company this morning, Edward?" she asks, raising an eyebrow to me.
"I just got out of the shower," I try to explain.
"With Jane? Was that actually her name?" She glares at me and I deserve it.
"Yes, that's actually her name, and no, if you must know, I wasn't having a shower with her." I smirk and she bites down on her bottom lip as her expression softens slightly. "Oh, you're soaked! I should get you a towel," I say.
"Preferably not the one you're wearing." She smiles at me. Wait, she's smiling at me? What the fuck? I'm never going to understand this woman. Last night, she's telling me I'm irrelevant, now she's standing in my foyer. Oh shit! She's still standing here, and I'm in a towel, which is barely hiding my sudden erection.
"I'll be right back. Make yourself at home." I hold the towel at my waist and take the stairs two at a time to the loft. I fumble around in my closet until I find a pair of black jeans and a black t-shirt, and throw them on. I run my fingers through my hair, and then take a few desperately needed cleansing breaths before retrieving a fresh towel and bolting out of the bathroom.
I descend to the studio and take a loud gasp in because she's standing in front of the first canvas, and she's got the fucking muslin lifted half way off of it.
"What the fuck are you doing?" I seethe at her, and she drops the muslin immediately and turns to me.
"This is really good, Edward," she says sincerely, but I'm so fucking mad right now, I can't even think straight.
My heart is beating through my chest as I cross the room to canvas. She stands beside me, watching intently, as I methodically fix the muslin so it's covering the canvas properly, before I snap and unleash on her.
"I know that this probably seems like some fucking kind of joke to you, but no one, and I mean no one, gets to see my work until its finished. How dare you fucking walk into my studio and fucking touch a Goddamn thing!" I scream at her, and she recoils, her eyes brimming with tears. She looks like she's genuinely afraid of me. Oh, I'm so fucked.
"I'm sorry, Edward. I didn't realize. I shouldn't have done that," she whispers. She's horrified. So am I. Why am I such an idiot? She turns and bolts for the stairs trying to take them quickly.
"Bella, wait. I'm sorry, it's just, I'm…" And fuck, she's not even waiting for me.
"Fucking hell, Bella. Wait!" When I reach her, she's at the second last stair. I pull on her arm, and she jerks it from me, twisting her body and stumbling forward, falling in a heap onto the hardwood floor.
"Goddamn it!" I yell as I crouch down beside her. She's shaking like a leaf, her hair a veil in front of her face as I hear her sob. "Bella, are you alright?" I wrap my arms around her shoulders, and pull her into my chest. Fuck, she feels so perfect. My dick is straining in my jeans as she wails into my shirt.
"Bella, baby, please look at me. I need to know if you're alright. You're scaring the shit out of me." I pull back reluctantly from her and brush her hair away from her face. Her eyes are clenched shut as tears stream down her cheeks.
"Bella, please. Does something hurt? Is…is your leg ok?" I cup her face between my hands, and it takes every ounce of willpower I have not to kiss her right now.
She shakes her head and finally opens her eyes to me. Holy fuck, I can't breathe. "I'm alright. I'm more embarrassed than anything. I never fall, ever," she says, staring back at me.
"It was my fault, I shouldn't have yelled at you, and I shouldn't have grabbed your arm," I say. Fuck, I'm an idiot, and she's just staring up at me with her massive brown eyes that are now red rimmed from crying…crying that I've caused. I feel nauseous.
"It's not your fault, Edward. If I had two real legs, I wouldn't have fallen." Is she actually arguing with me about this? The woman's stubbornness knows no bounds.
"And if I wasn't such a fucking ass, you wouldn't have fallen either." I rub my thumb across her cheek, and she closes her eyes. "Do you want to try to get up? I mean, I can help you if you want," I offer.
She nods her head, and I wrap my arm around her waist, lifting her with me, which is easy as hell because she probably only weighs a hundred pounds soaking wet…which she practically is. I keep my arm around her waist and look down at her. She shifts away from me slightly and tries to steady herself.
"Just hang on to me. I won't let you go." Ever. She takes a shaky breath in, and then a step towards the living room. I follow closely, keeping my arm around her waist as she makes her way to the black leather couch.
"I'm ok. It's alright," she says with a shaky breath.
"Are you sure?" Fuck, is it wrong for me to want it not to be ok just so I can keep touching her?
She nods her head and twists her body away from me, sitting down on the couch. I stand beside her and watch in complete fascination as she slowly rolls up her pant leg, and removes the artificial limb, resting it on the cushion beside her. She examines her thigh closely and then turns her attention to the leg. She sighs and then looks up at me.
"It's ok. Everything is fine." She looks relieved, and I let out the breath I've been holding since she sat down.
"I'm sorry, Bella. I need to explain…a lot of things, actually," I say as I try to formulate some semblance of a coherent explanation of the erratic behaviour that she's witnessed from me in the last few days.
"No, you don't, Edward. I shouldn't have come here, and I certainly shouldn't have been in your studio without asking you." She sounds sad. No! You should be here. This is exactly where you should be.
"Why did you come here?" I ask as I sit on the arm of the couch.
"I thought it would be a good idea to get the painting done sooner rather than later," she says, staring up at me.
"Oh. You wanted me to paint you today?" I ask, slightly amused because she has no idea how this works.
She nods her head innocently at me. "Is that a problem?" she asks as she slowly rubs circles over her thigh. Holy fuck, let me do that.
"I'm not exactly ready to paint you yet, Bella," I say as I watch her massage her thigh.
"You're not ready? You have a ton of painting stuff up there." She points up the stairs and looks at me skeptically.
"I don't have what I need for you. And I have to be in a certain frame of mind to do it," I say, smirking at her. My eyes fall to the leg that's sitting on the cushion beside her, and I tilt my head to the side to try to get a better look.
She picks it up and hands it up to me. "Just get it over with, Edward."
"Bella, I…that's not…just…fuck," I stammer, sounding like a complete idiot. But, I really, really want to touch it because this is such a big part of her. I want to understand this. I don't want her to think I can't understand it.
"It's ok. I mean, you're going to be painting me and everything, and this is a big part of who I am." She raises her eyebrows to me like she's issuing me a challenge. Does she think I won't do it? Does she really want me to? Do I really want to? Fuck, I know the answer. I want to touch it and her more than I've ever wanted anything in my entire life. But, I also feel like this is a test or something. Like if I do the wrong thing right now, it's going to screw everything up. Like it's not already screwed up? Fuck, she's so confusing. My heart starts beating faster as she continues to stare at me, her eyes dark, her head cocked slightly to the side.
I look back at her, and her expression softens slightly. She wets her bottom lip before bringing it into her mouth, and biting down. My eyes never leave hers as I place my hands delicately under the leg, and lift it from her.
Chapter End Notes
Vivaldi Summer Movement Three. Pure genius:www(dot)youtube(dot)/watch?v=i-7GXPDVSWY
Up next, Bella's view of the world.
Thanks for reading and reviewing.
Update soon.