Chapter Fourteen
Though I had thought Alice was joking, she really did drive us to the Forks Diner. We chose an out of the way booth in a far corner of the restaurant and spent a few minutes people watching and joking about the breakfast crowd, which was predominately male and almost universally clad in plaid flannel and denim.
Alice ordered her coffee, which we both knew she wouldn't touch, and I ordered myself half a grapefruit, cringing at the idea of putting anything more substantial into my exhausted body after such a long run.
"So, I had a long night," I finally said, sprinkling Splenda over my grapefruit.
"Tell me about it," Alice encouraged, holding her mug in front of her nose as though savoring the aroma.
"Well, I had a talk with Charlie which was... educational."
I looked to her and she nodded for me to continue.
"It sounds like my... mom... was keeping him away from me," I said quietly, attempting to sound less affected than I actually was.
"That's terrible, Bella. How did you find out?" Alice asked, leaning towards me slightly over the table.
"We just sort of fell into the conversation," I began, stealing Alice's untouched mug and taking a sip before sliding it back across to her. "He mentioned my mother and it just set off this whole thing... he apologized to me, Alice. It was horrible. He kept saying how sorry he was that I was so angry with him. And his face... he was just so hurt."
"What did you learn?"
"Not much," I admitted, spearing a section of grapefruit. "He said something about sending me cards and gifts and things... trying to call... I sort of freaked out halfway through it and ran. I seem to be doing that a lot lately," I added wryly, popping the citrus into my mouth.
"It's understandable, Bella, and completely warranted. You've experienced a great deal in a very short amount of time."
"Still," I shook my head, tucking an errant lock of hair behind my ear, "I never used to be that girl."
We were quiet for a while as I finished my fruit and took a few more pulls off of Alice's coffee.
"Anyway, your dad came over later that night. I'm sure he told you."
"He mentioned it, but he is a doctor. Patient confidentiality and whatnot. I don't actually know what happened."
"Well, Charlie told me all that stuff and I took off... and all I really remember is getting sick and crying... it was like a breakdown. I ran off into some field behind the diner... this diner, actually." I glanced around, taking in the people behind the counter. "This place has gotten a lot of action lately."
"So you had a breakdown..." she prompted.
"Yeah. Anyway, I woke up and I was at home on the couch. Your dad was there. He taped up my hands and left," I finished, holding up my bandaged knuckles.
"How'd you do that?" Alice asked, reaching forward to examine my hand.
"I think I took my frustration out on the ground," I said, struggling to remember the exact circumstances. "It's pretty hazy, to be honest."
"But you're fine now. With everything, I mean."
She looked straight at me. It was a statement, not a question.
"I think so. We talked it out when I went to bed."
"Good," she nodded. "That's good."
"It is," I agreed, motioning for the check.
We were quiet again as we waited for our waitress to bring the bill. And then it occurred to me that we had a lot more to talk about.
"Is that what you're wearing to school?" I asked Alice, motioning to her sweater set.
"I was feeling whimsical," she said by way of response, straightening the dainty string of pearls around her throat. "But I wasn't planning on changing. Why?"
"Well, did you want to maybe come to my house? Like, now? You could help me pick out an outfit, and we could talk some more..."
"Duh!" she squealed, throwing some cash on the table to cover the bill. Too much cash.
"Alice, I said I'd pay," I admonished, eyeing the offending pile of money.
"No, I said you'd pay, and I was only joking," she replied with a shake of her head. "Besides, Bella bear, did you remember to bring your wallet on your run this morning?"
I gaped at her for a moment. It hadn't even crossed my mind.
"I thought not."
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One shower and a blow out later found me sitting cross-legged on my bed as Alice rifled through my newly stocked closet.
"Put this on," she'd call every so often, tossing items onto the bed.
By the end of the raid, I was wearing dark skinny jeans and a white tuxedo shirt with a black vest.
"That'll do for now," Alice said flippantly before climbing carefully onto my bed and arranging herself behind me. "What else did you want to talk about?"
"This weekend," I responded, trying not to be distracted by the pile of bobby pins she dumped onto the bedspread next to me. "I wanted to talk about this weekend."
"So, talk," she encouraged lightly, running her fingers through my hair and dividing it into sections.
"I guess I just don't know where to start," I managed eventually. "I mean... when I think about the timeline of... everything... It overwhelms me."
"What does?"
"Well, this for a start," I responded, gesturing into the room. "You sitting on my bed with me at 6:30 on a Monday morning, helping me pick out my clothes and playing with my hair. I mean, we met a week ago today, Alice..."
"Why do you keep bringing that up?" she asked curiously, re-positioning my head so that I was looking to the side.
"Because it seems... strange. It bothers me."
"But does it bother you because it doesn't feel right, or does it bother you because you feel like it should bother you?" she asked enigmatically, guiding my head over so she could reach the opposite side.
"What's the difference?" I asked, trying to focus on her words rather than how quickly her fingers seemed to be moving through my hair.
"The difference is all about being honest with yourself, I suppose. Like... let's take your visions," she began thoughtfully. "When you first realized what they meant, how did you feel?"
"Scared," I responded after a moment. "I didn't like the idea of knowing so much, of being different... I wondered what it meant about me as a person... I still do sometimes."
"But they're a part of you now. Once you accepted them, you grew to rely on them. Would you say that's right?"
"Yes," I said immediately. "I didn't like it when they went away those few days. It felt like a part of me was missing."
She secured one last bobby pin in my hair before jumping lightly off the bed and began rummaging through the overnight bag I'd dumped in the corner.
"How long did it take you to finally accept them?" Alice asked, removing a silver train case from the bag before jumping back onto my bed. At least I knew now where the weight had come from when I'd hefted that thing upstairs.
"The dreams?" I asked. "It took a few weeks, maybe. Months, really, if I'm being honest. There were some nights when I would do everything in my power not to go to sleep. And there were plenty of times that I tried to avoid fulfilling things that I'd seen..."
"Do you think it would have been easier if you had just accepted them as a part of you?"
"Absolutely," I said immediately. "Those initial weeks made me miserable. I was a wreck. And, in the end, there was nothing I could do about them. All that misery was wasted."
I sat there, remembering the lengths to which I'd gone to try to avoid who I was, idly watching as Alice began lining up products on the bed. Eye shadow, lip gloss, some sort of powder, mascara...
"Was there a point to this line of questioning?" I asked eventually, trying not to flinch as she applied moisturizer to my face a bit more firmly than I'm sure she'd intended.
"Just that when you first figured out that your dreams were prophetic, you made yourself miserable worrying about the implications. You took something that was a fundamental part of you, a remarkable part of who you are, and questioned it."
"And you're saying I shouldn't question this?" I extrapolated, gesturing between the two of us.
"What I'm saying, Isabella Swan, is that you cannot view something extraordinary through ordinary lenses. It will distort the image. Now close your eyes so I can do your shadow," she finished.
I complied with a snort, lowering my eyelids, only to open them on her command a moment later.
"What I meant by my question before, Bella, is that you seem to be more concerned with what things look like rather than what they are," she said quietly, wielding a mascara wand.
"I don't know that that's true," I argued weakly.
"Isn't it?" she asked without malice. "When we went shopping over the weekend, what bothered you so much about me buying you a gift?"
"I don't have a problem with gifts, Alice. What you bought me wasn't a gift, it was a wardrobe!" I gestured wildly towards the closet. "It was ridiculous."
"Why was it ridiculous?" she persisted, sweeping gloss over my lips. "What is the difference between one shirt and ten shirts?"
"Are you kidding? Money! You spent a fortune on me!"
"Yes. As a gift. A gift is a gift, no matter the size, Isabella. The bottom line is, there is no difference between one shirt and ten. If giving you a gift makes me happy, and receiving a gift from me makes you happy, then it is a successful transaction. And should I desire to buy you a single garment or the entire store, the sentiment is still the same. You aren't obsessing over the act, but the price. And that, to be quite frank, is rather petty of you."
"Alice!" I all but yelled, mindful of Charlie downstairs.
"It's true," she insisted, crossing her arms and staring me down.
"Be that as it may-" I hedged, only to be cut off.
"What if you bought me a gift, Bella? What if you bought me a pair of earrings, let's say... you shop, you pick them out, you purchase them, you wrap them, and you present them to me. How would you feel if I asked you how much they cost?" she asked, lips pursed.
"That's an entirely different-"
"It is not and you know it," she replied. "Money is money. No matter how much or how little is spent, it is the sentiment behind it that matters. I bought you those clothes because you are a beautiful girl who should treat herself better, and I hoped that some new outfits might lift your spirits and help you see how amazing you are. Look in the damn mirror, Bella," she said, dragging me from my bed and positioning me in front of the mirror on my wall. "Look at yourself."
And I did. Alice had twisted and folded and pinned my hair into some sort of elaborate French braid that sat atop my head like a crown, elongating my neck and making me look older. My makeup was, again, simple and elegant, highlighting my eyes and adding definition my cheek bones. The outfit she had selected for me was... cool. The skinny jeans made my legs look infinitely longer, and the white pleated shirt somehow brought out the rosiness of my skin tone. I didn't look like pale, plain Bella. I looked like hipster, chic Bella.
"You did this," I choked, gesturing. "This isn't me, Alice. I'm not this girl."
"You're wrong," Alice disagreed, stepping into the reflection next to me. "It is you, Bella. All of this," she gestured from my artfully styled hair to my sock-clad toes, "is just window dressing. The girl under the hair and the makeup and the designer labels... she's still you."
She walked away for a moment, returning with a pair of black galoshes and my locket. Quickly and quietly, she helped me step into the tall boots, hiding a smile when I lost my balance and almost crashed to the floor. Next, she jumped up on her toes, drawing the long silver chain over my head and carefully settling my totem over my shirt for all to see.
"There," she said, patting me on the shoulder. "You look ready to me. Let's go learn something."
She hoisted my bag over her shoulder and practically glided down the stairs, trilling goodbye to a surprised Charlie before bounding ahead of me into her car.
"We're carpooling today!" she called over the engine, grinning.
Shaking my head, I called my own goodbye to Charlie before following her.
"I had a dream about Edward last night," I blurted suddenly, buckling my seatbelt.
"He knows," she replied cryptically as she pulled away from the curb. "He knows."
A/N: Thanks as always to IssaBissa for her diligence... and thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter.
So... here's the deal, guys. Many of you have asked me for an EPOV and, to be honest, I'm open to the idea. I have no interest in adding it to this story, but I might be willing to begin a separate Of Dreams Outtakes story... for a price.
I want reviews and I'm willing to buy them from you. Give me enough reviews, and I'll give you an Edward outtake... I'll even let people vote. You tell me what you want to read, and I'll do my best to accommodate you.
Clearly, I'm not too proud to beg, so... there it is.
Thanks for reading.
Now hit the button. :)