All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. 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. June 2010.
Thanks to my incredible beta xrxdanixrx, who provides the banner, writes four amazing stories: Don't Try to Save Me, At Your Own Risk, Hate Me, and Here We Go Again. She is awesome!
Twilighted Beta – Shabbyapple. Thanks as always for turning these around so quickly.
Thanks to all reading and reviewing. Your reviews mean the world.
Shall we check in with our Bella?
BPOV
Chapter 21
"People can change, Bella. You just have to give them a chance," he says with determination, staring at me with this intense, burning look that makes me just want to forget my insecurities and my rules, and the fact that I have no idea how to physically move our relationship forward. But, there it is. If I want this to go further, and God knows right now I do, he needs to know that this is not going to be what he's used to. The thought of Edward with the women he's admitted he's been with makes me a tad nauseous, and my situation that much more glaringly unique. Baby steps…that's what we need to take.
He turns to the stove and puts the fresh pasta in, while I devour another chocolate… and more wine. The chocolate really is better with Port, and I marvel at the fact that I so totally and completely misunderstood Edward. I never, in a million years, would have thought he was a wine aficionado. It's actually extremely sexy, if I'm being honest.
"Pasta should be ready in a few minutes," he says, turning from the stove and placing his wine glass in the sink.
"You're not having wine with your dinner?" I ask, eyeing the glass curiously.
"Not this wine."
"What's wrong with this wine?"
"Nothing, but it doesn't go with the meal," he says, as if I'm supposed to know that.
"It doesn't?"
"No. Wine and food are kind of like relationships," he says seriously, like he's given this a lot of thought.
"Really?" I ask dryly. He nods and quirks an eyebrow. "Enlighten me, oh great philosopher of wine and relationships."
"Well, one shouldn't overpower the other. They should enhance each other. You know, give a good balance," he explains, leaning back on the counter.
"I see. It's all about balance then, eh?" I ask, tilting my head to the side at him. Only Edward could find some parallel between wine and relationships. The way his creative mind works is absolutely fascinating.
"Yes…usually a delicate balance," he says, offering me his patented heated look.
"Uh, huh," I mutter, looking away from him. How does he do that? Make me completely fall apart with just a look?
He snickers. "Can you keep an eye on the pasta? I'll get us another bottle of wine," he says, pushing off from the counter and brushing past me.
"Are you sure you trust me with this?" I ask, moving to the stove.
"I'm fairly certain you can handle it," he quips, disappearing towards the wine room, and of course, I watch him…for way longer than I should.
Forty-five minutes later, we're sitting at his counter, finishing what is probably the best fettuccine I've ever had. "That was amazing, Edward," I compliment.
"Thanks." He shrugs slightly.
"You remembered I was a vegetarian?" I ask, sipping the chardonnay that he insisted earlier is the reason the pasta tastes so good. I'm not entirely sure what exactly he said about the wine, due to the fact that I was fixated on the way his muscles flexed under his t-shirt when he removed the cork from the bottle.
"Yeah, I remember that conversation…vividly. Although, I wasn't really sure if you actually were a vegetarian or if you were just trying to get rid of me."
"I was a bitch to you that day, but yeah, I'm actually a vegetarian," I admit.
"Well, I'm glad I went with the fettuccine tonight, then." He puts his fork down and looks to be fighting some internal war, before he turns to me, his expression serious. "Do you ever talk about the accident? I mean…Emmett told me it happened when you were skiing, but…never mind, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked." He shakes his head and rakes his fingers through his hair.
"No, its ok. I mean, you should probably know. But, I'm going to need more wine for this conversation," I confess. He smiles and refills my glass. He waits and watches while I take a sip and summon up the nerve to talk about this. I don't ever usually get this far with a man to explain how this happened. The details aren't things I normally share, but I also realize that if we're going to have any type of a relationship, he needs to know.
He senses my reluctance and gets up from the counter, clearing the plates and rinsing them in the sink. "Maybe you'd be more comfortable on the couch?" he suggests.
"Yeah, that sounds nice." He brings the bottle of wine, while I carry our glasses to the living room. He sinks down beside me on the couch. I take another sip of wine and twirl the glass between my fingers before taking a deep breath. I raise my eyes to him and he offers me an encouraging smile. "When I was in university, I was actually on the ski team. I am…well, I was a pretty good skier. Rose, Alice, Emmett, and I had gone to Revelstoke for a vacation. I was actually training for a race at the time. Anyway, it was early morning, a perfect day on the mountain…and I just…I hit an ice patch and lost control. That had never happened to me before." I shake my head and stare back at him. "I crashed down the slope, and the release on the ski binding didn't trigger right away. I ended up hitting a tree, and breaking my leg. It was an open fracture. Do you know what that is?" I ask. He shakes his head slowly, his brow furrowed, the colour drained almost entirely from his face.
"Essentially, it's a broken bone that penetrates through the skin." He gasps slightly and his eyes grow wide while he looks down at my leg. We both take a long sip of wine, the seconds that changed my life coming back to me in painful, vivid flashes. I squeeze my eyes shut. "If the bone had just broken and not gone all the way through, I probably wouldn't have lost my leg," I whisper, opening my eyes again. "But, when a bone goes through the skin, it needs to be treated immediately, or there's a chance for infection and problems with circulation. Emmett and Rose stayed with me, while Alice and Jasper, who she had just met, went off to get help. It felt like it took a long time for them to come back…like a really long time. I slipped in and out of consciousness, so Emmett tells me, anyway. I don't really remember much about that part…other than the pain and Rose's white ski suit covered in blood while she lay with me in the snow. She never let go of my hand the whole time. I don't know how they stomached staying with me." I sniff and shake my head. "When the ski patrol finally came, they had to airlift me to the hospital. They did one operation that day, and then another a couple of days later because of circulation problems and the damage to the blood vessels in my leg."
"Jesus, Bella," he mutters, placing his wine glass on the coffee table and turning his body back towards me.
"This team of doctors came in after the second operation, and I distinctly remember them pulling out a massive pin and sticking it into my leg in a bunch of places. I didn't feel a thing. Nothing. They said, and I quote, 'circulation couldn't be stabilized'…I'll remember those four words for the rest of my life…circulation couldn't be stabilized." He furrows his brow and takes the shaking wine glass out of my hand, placing it on the coffee table beside his. He holds both of my hands in his and slowly starts to the rub the backs with his thumbs. "I remember the look on my dad's face…that's etched in my mind forever, I think. I remember my Mom collapsing beside the bed in her usual dramatic fashion." I laugh to myself. "She then proceeded to parade in a bunch of natural healers and she filled the room with different types of incense. She even did all these weird chants, apparently trying to fix me. Actually, looking back, that was comic relief for us while we waited for the final decision." He laces his long fingers with mine and squeezes softly. "The chants didn't help. There was nothing that could have helped. My leg was dead below the knee from lack of circulation, and they had to amputate it…there wasn't really another choice."
"Bella…I'm so sorry, baby." His voice is quiet, but the last thing I want is pity. I've worked too hard for pity to be the reaction. Understanding-yes, acceptance- definitely…but not pity.
"It's alright, and I don't want you to feel sorry for me, Edward. I mean, it was painful as hell, and don't even get me started on the years of physio. Jake can be brutal."
His jaw sets and he shifts back slightly. "How long has Jake been your physiotherapist?" he asks quietly.
"Pretty much since it happened. He's been amazing. I seriously don't know how I would have gotten to this point without him." He knits his brow together and nods his head. "I don't have feelings for Jake. Not the way I think you're thinking," I assure him.
"Well, he sure as hell has feelings for you," he growls through gritted teeth.
"You met him for all of five minutes, Edward. How can you possibly know that?"
"Because I'm a guy and I know."
I roll my eyes. "Oh, right. The secret guy code," I say, putting the words in air quotes. "And Jake is seeing someone, if you must know."
"He wants you, Bella. That's pretty fucking crystal clear to me," he notes possessively.
"You're being ridiculous. Jake knows how I feel about him. We've had that discussion."
"You have?" he asks. I nod my head. "And that doesn't tell you anything? The fact that you've had a conversation about how you feel?"
"When you've been through what I have been with Jake, you get close. He's a good friend…that's all, and he's not going anywhere, Edward," I confirm.
He sulks beside me and I'm rather enjoying the fact that Edward Cullen seems to be jealous. "Please don't tell me that you're jealous of Jake."
He flashes his eyes at me, a new look of determination on his beautiful face. My breathing hitches as the mood in the room shifts dramatically. "Jealous? No. You're here with me and not with him. And I've done something I'm fairly certain he hasn't," he says, his voice lower while he slowly moves closer.
"And what might that be?" I ask, sinking further back into the couch.
"I've painted you," he whispers. I raise my eyebrows to him. "I've painted here." He brushes he lips across my collarbone, my head involuntarily falling back to the couch. Jeez, I'm trying really hard here not to succumb to him, but he's making it virtually impossible. "And I've painted here." He trails his fingers down the front of the t-shirt, skimming lightly over my breasts. My nipples pebble instantly, just begging him for more. "And here." He moves his fingers down slowly, stilling them at my hip. "Has physio-boy ever done that?"
I shake my head. "No," I squeak while his eyes darken and he narrows them at me.
"And will you ever let him do that?" he asks, his voice barely audible.
I swallow loudly. "No."
"I don't want anyone else painting you, Bella."
I just murmur, because right now, I don't think I can form a coherent sentence. My entire body is on fire, my heart flying as he inches closer, pressing his solid torso into mine.
"Stay the night," he mumbles next to my ear. "Please?"
Something in my brain registers what that actually means, and I remember how to speak…only marginally. "I can't."
He stills his lips on mine and pulls back from me. "Can't or won't?" he asks.
"Can't. I need…things to stay," I murmur.
"I can get you anything you want, Bella," he says suggestively, brushing my hair behind my shoulder and attaching his lips to my neck.
Holy crap! Focus, Bella! "I mean for my leg, Edward."
He sits straight up, looking concerned. "I'm sorry. I totally didn't even think about that," he says.
"I know, and that's ok. I have to though. It's my reality. I can't really be spontaneous; I need to plan pretty much everything, especially if it involves staying away from home."
"If you tell me what you need, I'll make sure its here. You know, for next time," he says, raising his eyebrows.
"Next time?" There's going to be a next time?
"Isn't it obvious that I want there to be next time?" Holy fuck…he's serious, and suddenly, the room is spinning and I feel faint.
"I think we need to slow down, Edward. This is all happening pretty fast for me," I admit reluctantly.
"Bella, this is slow for me," he says darkly.
"It is, huh?"
"Mmmmm," he mutters, tracing his fingers over my stomach and then back up to my neck. "I like this shirt on you."
"You do?"
"Yeah, I do. But you know what?" he asks, lacing his fingers through my hair.
"What?"
"I think it would look much better off you," he whispers.
I take a sharp breath in. "Edward…" I warn.
"Bella…"
I'm on the verge of a panic attack, or an orgasm…I can't figure out which. But, what I do know is I need to get out of here, right now. It's too much, too fast, too soon. I place both hands on his chest and push him back slightly. "Edward. I can't do this right now. I know you probably have expectations about tonight…I mean…the painting, the dinner…and I'm know I've been giving you mixed signals. Would you understand if I told you…I need time before we…" My voice trails and I'm sure I turn eight shades of red.
He shuts his eyes, his exceeding long lashes making me quiver, before he inhales softly and then nods his head in acquiescence. "I'm sorry, Bella. I know I'm intense. I find it hard to control myself around you and I thought that you felt the same way," he says quietly.
"I do," I say, a little too quickly. "I just also know that I don't want to rush into this with you. I want to get to know you. I mean, this is the first time we've actually really talked, and I think we both have a lot more to say."
He rests his forehead on mine. "I didn't mean to push you," he whispers apologetically.
"It's ok, Edward. This isn't you…it's me. If I was different, if I didn't have five years worth of insecurities and doubt and disappointment, I think we'd already be in your bed."
He laughs softly. "I don't want you to be disappointed anymore. You're a beautiful person, Bella, and you deserve someone who recognizes that," he says, his eyes fixated on my lips. "So, what are the boundaries, then?"
"The boundaries?" I ask tentatively.
"Yeah, what are you comfortable with?"
Honestly, I don't know how to answer that right now. He smirks and then slowly skims his lips across mine. "This seems ok, right?" He brings my bottom lip into his mouth before his tongue finds mine and starts to move. Fuck, it's more than ok. It's sensory overload. To feel him against me, his lips moving with mine, urgently, passionately, it's staggering. He stops abruptly, looking back at me for my response.
"Yeah, that's ok," I breathe. He smiles and lowers his lips to my neck, which of course, makes me involuntarily arch towards him while he moves across my collarbone. "That's ok, too," I murmur. I think I like this little game of discovery. I just hope I can stop before…
"How about this?" He interrupts my internal dialogue by trailing his fingers up under the t-shirt, cupping my breast and groaning softly. "So perfect," he murmurs. The inner panic button clearly has been pressed, my heart accelerates and I shift back slightly from him. He removes his hand quickly and shifts back. "Ok. So, now we know the boundaries. Are you ok with them?"
I try to steady my breathing. "I think the question is, are you?"
"I'm willing to do whatever it takes, Bella. I meant what I said. I don't want to be that guy anymore. You've seen what I've done because of you. You know how I feel. I'll be here, waiting, whenever you're ready for more."
My mouth falls open. He's so disarming, so different from who I thought he was. I'm right back to being annoyed with myself on forming an opinion about Edward before I got to know him; for almost missing the chance to get to know him. I cup his face between my hands. "Thank you for understanding."
"It doesn't mean I'm not going to launch myself at you every chance I get," he says smugly.
"I'm kind of counting on that," I admit. "Thank you for tonight. I had a wonderful time. Are you really sure about donating the painting?"
"Yeah. I am. You've seen the studio. I've got loads up there, and this one feels like its own piece, you know? Like it stands alone."
"It'll make a big difference for The Foundation. I'm sure of it," I say firmly.
"I hope so, although I'm more interested in the difference it's going to make for us."
Oh, he would have to say stuff like that, making me want him even more. "Me, too." He stares back at me, awaiting my next move. "I should go. It's getting late, and I still have the good 'ole nightly routine to do," I say, rolling my eyes.
He nods his head. "I'll get one of those drying racks, and if you tell me what soaps and stuff you use, I'll have them here…you know, when you're ready," he says, smirking at me.
I push up from the couch and he stands beside me. "How about I bring the soaps and stuff, as you call them, when I'm ready? Canadian Tire has cheap racks if you're interested," I suggest.
"I'll see what I can do," he says, the corners of his mouth turning up.
He keeps his hand on the small of my back while we make our way to the door. "Oh! My clothes. I should get them."
"I'll get them cleaned for you, if I can. If not, I'll buy you new ones. It's my fault they're ruined," he says, shaking his head slightly, but not looking too concerned about the clothes.
"I'll get these back to you," I say, hiking the running pants up so they don't fall off my waist.
"You don't have to do that, Bella," he says quickly, his eyes raking down my body.
I open the door and he holds it, leaning forward. The rain is still misting down, cooling me instantly. "You're still coming over for dinner tomorrow, right?" I ask hopefully.
"Of course. I'll be there. I'll even bring wine. What are we having? I wouldn't want to bring the wrong one," he says, his eyes dancing with amusement.
"I'm making lasagna. Jazz loves it and he's been asking for it for a couple of weeks."
He nods his head. "Sounds wonderful."
"Oh, that reminds me. Have you thought more about the article for the magazine with Alice? You guys can talk about it tomorrow night," I say, blinking up at him, amazed that I almost forgot to talk about this after I promised Alice I would. Edward seems to make me forget about a lot of things, actually.
He scowls slightly, but nods his head. "Yeah. I'll do it," he says, keeping his eyes locked with mine.
"Thanks, and Edward?"
"Yeah?"
"I'd check out those drying racks, if I were you. I may be ready sooner than you think."
His eyes grow wide and he laces his fingers through my hair, pulling me to him and kissing me until I almost forget I'm supposed to be leaving. "You don't play fair," he murmurs when he finally releases me.
"Never said I did," I say against his lips. He laughs and shakes his head, watching me while I back up from him.
"Good night, Bella."
"Night, Edward." I turn and make my way to the Jeep, enjoying the fact that he's watching me.
I dart across the street and climb into the Jeep, only getting marginally wet from the rain in the process. I fish the keys out of my bag and start the engine. I wave to Edward before splashing off through the puddles down the street, a quirky smile replacing the frown I thought was permanently etched there.
Sitting at the red light at the end of the street, I'm amazed at the turn of events that have taken place tonight. Edward, the painting, the dancing, the wine room… it's all a little hard to believe. But I want to. I want to believe so badly, it hurts. But, I'm also fully aware that Edward's list of issues is just as long as mine. Maybe that's why this can work. Maybe his little wine-relationship analogy was meant for us. We do kind of compliment each other, each with our own issues, each looking desperately for something that will make us better.
An annoying honk from the car behind me, coupled with a double flash of high beams, brings me out of my Edward-induced haze for the second time today, and I accelerate down the street. I glance in the rear-view mirror and wave my hand, silently apologizing.
The rain on the windshield blurs my vision slightly, and I switch the wipers on, gripping the steering wheel why I wind my way through the relatively empty streets. I'm not a fan of driving in the dark, in the rain. The rain picks up marginally, and I have difficulty seeing because this idiot behind me still has his high beams on. God, I hate when people do that.
I take the next left, an alternate route home, hopeful that the car behind me is off to some bar and not the residential area. My hope fades as the car takes the left, following closely…too closely in this type of weather, and now I'm officially pissed off. There's no need for this asshole to be this close to me, and there's certainly no call for leaving high beams on in the city.
I pick up speed towards the next light as the rain continues to pour down, my heart starting to pound as the car behind me matches my pace. Holy fuck. I grip the steering wheel tighter, trying to remember what words of wisdom Dad had for this particular situation. Right now, I really wish I had listened more closely to his never ending lectures on how to protect myself. The car increases its speed and darts out beside me into the empty oncoming traffic lane.
My breathing is coming so fast, it's fogging the windows. This person, whoever it is, is a lunatic. I take my foot off the accelerator, hoping they will pass and end this insane little game. I feel the blood pumping faster through my veins as the car slows with me, and then, suddenly, jerks intently to the right, forcing me to swerve towards to sidewalk. I right the Jeep and keep my eyes focused on the road ahead, now remembering what Charlie told me to do.
I quickly press the automatic lock for the doors and turn right sharply, down the next street, accelerating the Jeep, my breathing coming in gasps. I watch in the rear-view mirror as the car turns with me, the back window wiper, which I've needed to get replaced for some time now, blurring anything that could identify what kind of a car this is. I've got nothing to go on. It looks black, maybe? Oh, Charlie would not be happy with my lack of attention to detail, right now.
I slow down again, the car behind jerking out into the left lane and taking another angle at the Jeep, forcing me to stop completely, and I narrowly avoid going over the curb and onto the sidewalk. I stay with my hands now white knuckled on the steering wheel, and watch the car slow to a stop in the middle of the street in front of me.
Holy fuck. Panic overtakes me while I stare blankly out the window, trying to get a look at the car, the driver, anything at all. All I see is blackened windows, and a dark blue car. I think the symbol on the back is a Lexus, but I can't be sure…it could be a Toyota; they all look the same to me.
A glaring horn from an oncoming pick up truck causes the car to shift abruptly into the right lane, and it screeches off down the street, sending water from the puddles flying in either direction. I squint, trying to make out the license plate while it speeds away. All I can tell is that it doesn't look like there are numbers on it at all. It looks like one of those customized plates, like Emmett got last year, only this one is surrounded by a bright red frame.
I put the Jeep in park and take a series of deliberate breathes while the rain flows down the windshield. Panic attacks have nothing on this. I don't know what the fuck that was. It could have been kids playing some stupid street game designed to scare the hell out people. If that's the case, mission accomplished, assholes.
Instinct kicks in, and I slowly put the Jeep into drive and head for the police station, my hands shaking the whole way. That's where Charlie said I should go in a situation like this, and for once, I'm going to listen to him.
Chapter End Notes
Just a random street game?
Up next, EPOV.
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