Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Twilight characters or the rights to "Wish You Were Here" as performed by Avril Lavigne, and I will not be earning income from
using these materials. I do, however, own the storyline and any original characters. Thank you.
A/N: *gasp* I'm back before a month has passed! I know, I know, it's very hard to believe ... but it's TRUE!
First, I'd like to say thank you to my awesome beta, clarabella75, for being so supportive and wonderful. This woman truly is more than superbeta, she's supermom and superteacher, and she manages to do all of that and STILL be a great friend. Secondly, to my amazing wifey and pre-reader, puppymama0909, thank you for just being ... well ... you. I can't even express everything you do for me, INCLUDING the super-awesome-licious write up this month on the Fanficaholics Anonymous Blog, featuring Remember Me Tomorrow - You ROCK, bb! And if you don't know what I'm talking about ... well, visit my profile and come join us, because if you're not in FFA, you're missing out!
Second, thank you to all of you who come back update after update, encouraging me to keep going and never give up. :) I hope you enjoyed your sneak peak, and just know, you all make the days writing worth while. I could NEVER express how much you all mean to me. Never stop being amazing.
Lastly - to my super fic-awesome girls over on the Fanficaholics Anon Forum, thank you for your unending support. Ali, Lisa, Kd, Mezz, Bex, JJ, Riley, Rae, Zen, TGB, - you are phenomenal, and I am honored to call you my friend. Love you girls, from the bottom of my heart.
Now, let's settle in for a little R&R with Bella and Treward ... hope you enjoy the love!
Chapter Fourteen:
Tangled Up In Moments
I can be tough
I can be strong
But with you, it's not like that at all
There's a girl that gives a shit
Behind this wall, you just walk through it
And I remember all those crazy things you said
You left them running through my head
You're always there, you're everywhere
But right now, I wish you were here
"Wish You Were Here" – Avril Lavigne
x0x0x0x0x0x
8:07 am: Don't challenge me, Bella. I told you I would find you.
8:08 am: Um, Trevor? Also - if this isn't Trevor, then this isn't Bella.
My fingers sketched loosely over the buttons, playing the flirtatious part I didn't feel. Of course, sarcasm always had been my go-to in an uncomfortable situation. Original, right?
It took only seconds before my phone buzzed in my hands again.
8:08 am: Okay, not Bella, is there any chance at me finding a Bella anywhere near you?
What the hell?
Oh … he was trying to be funny.
The vicodin must have been kicking in. Not only did I laugh, I decided to play along.
8:09 am: There might be a Bella down the street, but I never asked her. She's kind of plain, mousy, and likes to wear sneakers a lot.
I snickered. The response was nearly instant. Damn, the man was fast.
8:09 am: Damn. Must not be the same Bella, because the Bella I know is outgoing, honest, and funny, with beautiful, silky hair and a mouth that rivals a sailor.
I was sure the blush spread to the center of my scalp. Another text popped up before I could respond.
8:09 am: And I like your sneakers.
I laughed out loud.
8:10 am: Okay, okay, you got me. I'm impressed, creeper. How'd you work your magic so quickly?
I adjusted my leg, slid the ice pack gently on top of my sweat pants, and put the muffin in my lap before my phone buzzed again.
8:11 am: That's for me to know and you to find out.
8:12 am: Original … the only traitor I can think of is Jasper. Do he and I need to have a talk about hacking his girlfriend's phone?
8:14 am: My lips are sealed. So … how's your ankle?
8:14 am: Painful. But it'll heal. My shoes, however, have seen better days.
8:15 am: Poor shoes. I hope Alice won't mourn their loss for too long.
8:16 am: They were my shoes. I'm thinking of having a funeral. Possibly a wake. Wailing, gnashing of teeth, shredding clothes … you know, the norm.
8:17 am: Ah. I'm sure it's left a huge void in your heart.
That one hit home. Not as large as you did, was my preferred response. I settled for more sarcasm.
8:18 am: It's not as large as the knot in my ankle.
8:20 am: I'm so sorry, Bella. I wish there was something I could do.
8:22 am: You can keep me company since I can't walk or get out of my bed.
Speaking of, how in the hell was I going to get lunch? This muffin was not going to cut it for the rest of the day. I hoped Alice would emerge from her hidey-hole, possibly notice my absence from the rest of the apartment, and come looking.
His next response was long in coming. I sat, drank my juice, ate my muffin, and fought against the numbing web spreading over my brain from the vicodin. I ached for more of his conversation. I wasn't hearing his voice, I wasn't in direct proximity to him; it couldn't be that bad, could it? The vibrations against my legs reached my sleep-logged brain.
8:37 am: Can I come over?
I visibly flinched. My fingers hovered over the keys, unable to answer. Yes or no? The angel and the devil on my shoulder fought. Did I truly need more mind-fuckery today? Probably not. The past forty-eight hours had been enough for a lifetime. His un-engagement hadn't even passed the twenty-four hour marker yet. Not to mention the Trevor-hating she-devil who was probably ruminating in her lair at this precise moment, feverishly livid at the world for throwing off the balance of her kismet.
It didn't matter that my chest squeezed painfully, desperately struggling for control over my thumbs in order to send a different answer into cyberspace. For now, Trevor and I being seen together was a no-go.
8:42 am: It's probably not a good idea.
His response came faster than I would have expected.
8:43 am: Why not? I could help take care of you.
I sighed. He just had to fight it, didn't he? I fought back, but every subsequent text message chipped a little piece of my resolve into dust.
8:46 am: Did you happen to forget you were engaged yesterday? Not to mention the fact that my roommate still wants to kill you. Alice is here to take care of me.
8:49 am: No, I didn't forget. And I know Alice. She's probably so busy wallowing, she hasn't even noticed your existence. Have you had breakfast?
8:54 am: Emmett left me a muffin and some juice. And it feels like the crack of dawn. Alice might still be … sleeping.
8:57 am: Weak. Alice is an early riser. Don't ask how I know that. And a muffin, really? Is Emmett still there to feed you a proper breakfast?
9:00 am: I don't want a proper breakfast, I liked my muffin. It was raspberry. And no, Emmett left.
9:01 am: I won't stay long if you don't want me to. I just want to check on your ankle.
9:03 am: So you can see how bad it is? Nope. I've got drugs. I'm fine. I'm a big girl.
9:04 am: I'll bring coffee.
Oh God. Coffee sounded delicious.
No. I couldn't break down.
9:08 am: No you won't. Because you're not coming over. And you don't know what I like.
9:09 am: White chocolate raspberry mocha, skinny, with one extra sugar.
Damn. He was good. I tapped my thumb against the phone with my eyes rolled back in my head, which was flat against my pillow, fighting the vicodin. The phone buzzed before I could respond.
9:12 am: Why don't you want me there?
Shit.
Straight to the point, and now my heart was throbbing around the poison-tipped spear. I slid further under my covers, trying to respond, my aching ankle a dull flicker behind my steadily closing eyelids. My fingers moved, skimming through the truth in my drug-induced haze.
9:18 am: Because I do.
I don't even remember pressing the send button, but the waking sensation of a gentle hand spread over my foot was a subtle indication that I had.
My lids fluttered, senses returning to embrace the heat of the blankets I was cocooned inside of, followed by a light pain that fluttered up my leg. I groaned, rolling over and fully intending to snag another vicodin, when my arm and the majority of my left shoulder hit empty air.
"The hell –"
I tensed, shoulders, head, and neck ready for the impact – but no pain hit my ready and waiting nerves. Instead, those same nerves registered warmth and pressure, wrapped around my waist, while the majority of my upper body remained suspended above the floor.
"And you say you don't need someone to watch you."
The laughter in his voice was plain enough to spread a crimson bloom all the way down my neck.
"Well if I hadn't somehow ended up in the living room, I wouldn't have needed to be watched," I grumbled. With his help, I pulled myself around to rest where I had apparently been sleeping and surveyed my surroundings.
Undoubtedly, I was in the living room; the television was on, volume nearly muted, while my legs sat in Trevor's lap, two pillows propped up behind my head and two more blankets layered over the rest of my body. My vicodin and the remainder of my apple juice sat on the coffee table. I shoved my hand through my hair and squeezed my eyes shut, swallowing thickly. My mouth was cotton.
"How did I get down here anyhow?"
"I carried you."
I squinted, staring at the man sitting across from me through the tiny slits, when my foggy mind cleared a little more. What … what the fuck?
"What the hell are you doing here?"
Trevor lifted the remote and began scrolling through the channels. "Well that's a friendly greeting for the person who just saved you from a broken nose to match your broken ankle."
He had saved my face, so I resisted the urge to hit him, but the nonchalance in his voice was nothing short of infuriating, even in my less than coherent state. And it didn't stop me from being petulant.
"It is not broken." I crossed my arms over my chest. "And I wouldn't have needed to be saved if you hadn't brought me down here in the first place." If I could've stomped, I would have.
Trevor tossed the remote to the coffee table and turned to me, gingerly lifting my ankle.
"Excuse me for thinking you might have wanted to leave your room today." He slid the injured limb onto a pillow beside him. "And how do you know it's not broken?"
I stared at him in disbelief.
"Why are you even here? Didn't I ask you not to come over?"
"That's not the text I got."
"Your phone's possessed. And I don't know that it's not broken. I'm just … hoping."
Frowning, Trevor pulled his phone off of the coffee table, scrolled through it and shoved the device under my nose.
Message sent: Why don't you want me there?
Message received: Because I do.
Well, fuck. I thought I had erased that.
"Fine." My arms were back across my chest when another thought struck me. "Where's Alice?"
"She's shopping with Rose and then has a date with Jasper." Trevor snagged the remote and started channel surfing again. "Good God, nearly two-hundred and fifty channels, and still nothing to watch. What the hell is the appeal of a TV, again?"
I decided to ignore his rambling.
"How do you know what Alice is doing?"
"I have my sources."
Yeah, the same one that gave you my number. Benedict Hale.
"So … she doesn't know you're here?" I snuggled a little further into my pillow-infested cave, the blanket-like layers of the pain pills settling over me again. While I wasn't dog tired, I was drowsy, and my mind was retreating to the comfortable, somnambulant haze of peace and safety.
"No. And so long as you in your drugged state can keep your mouth shut, she doesn't have to know." He glanced at me sideways, reaching to rest his hand against my ankle. "You need someone to take care of you, Bella." His eyes narrowed. "And you need to go to the emergency room."
I flapped my hand once or twice in the air before letting it fall to my lap, a wistful attempt at waving him off.
"I'll go to the doctor tomorrow. So, where's my mocha?"
"It's not good to mix caffeine and vicodin, Bella."
I scowled.
"Well, I need something to drink. My mouth tastes like cotton." I raised my cup pathetically. "And my juice is gone."
Trevor looked at me and raised an eyebrow. Was he … offering? Oh. He really meant it.
"I think we have some ginger ale in the fridge?"
My request came out more as a question, but regardless, for the first time, he didn't give me hell. Instead, he simply made his way to the kitchen and returned with a PB&J sandwich and a soda. I took the plate from his hands, eyes questioning. When he crossed his arms over his chest, it wasn't petulant; instead, it was commanding and deserving of respect.
"You can take another pill, after you eat some lunch. Vicodin on an empty stomach is almost worse than with caffeine."
"Yes, master." I rolled my eyes and sighed. However, as Trevor settled back onto the couch beside me, I popped open the soda and took a bite of the sandwich, nearly groaning in pleasure from the feel of the crisp, cool drink and the sweetly salty tang of Goober on my tongue. Why hadn't I realized I was hungry?
I chewed slowly, savoring every bite of the sandwich and lingering over every thought in my head.
I had put up a fight, and he hadn't gone away. Alice had left, and it was truer than I wanted to admit – today would have been particularly hellish with no one here to take care of me. I was crazy if I thought I could get down the stairs with this ankle; the coordination required to feed myself was an entirely different playing field. And hungry Bella was not a pretty Bella.
But why was he here?
Less than twenty-four hours ago, he had been fully committed, engaged to the wealth of Atlanta society and resting in the happy, healthy palm of surety. I could never forget his confession, the oddly placed relief which left me annoyingly confused and elated, but it seemed more important that here, in the heartbeat of the deep South, the Bible belt, where the tradition-conscious masses could ruin generations of legacy, he should at least pretend to go through the typical period of mourning.
As though someone had died.
But obviously he hadn't cared. He wasn't grieving, and he didn't give a shit if anyone thought he was or not. So the most insistent question finally surfaced – if he didn't care, why should I?
I had been good before, when it was morally wrong; I had hidden and pushed away, shoving backwards and nearly falling over the edge. Now, all that remained at stake were opinions and feelings, thoughts and gossip.
What the hell did it matter anymore?
Tossing back the vicodin, I crushed the empty can and sat it on top of my plate.
"Thank you." My words were quiet, and I didn't expect a response, choosing instead to show my gratitude through my lack of protestation.
"You're welcome."
He heard me anyway.
The rest of the afternoon passed into oblivion. The door didn't open or shut for anyone except the Chinese delivery guy, and I was home. Silence ruled, a comfortably intense peace I had never experienced before. We watched movie after movie, show after show, comments breaking the silence now and again, laughter more prominent than not.
Halfway through, my head worked its way onto a pillow and into his lap, his hand winding through the thick strands of hair, nails scraping pleasurable against my scalp. Hour chased hour, practically eating one another, and I listened to the rain stop, watched the clouds break and followed the rays of light which stretched across the floor, shrinking as time ticked by. Soon, I was dreading Alice's return, the moment he would have to leave.
The moment came too soon.
"Bella."
My name was a soft whisper in my ear, and I was shaken soothingly.
"Hmmm."
"I'm going to pick you up and carry you to bed now. Please don't kick me or anything, okay?"
"Okay," I muttered, still incoherent. A small part of me registered his imminent departure, and that part ached in response. I frowned, grasping at his neck when I felt solidity disappear from underneath me. His corresponding chuckle vibrated in my arms and chest.
An instant later, his warmth disappeared, my blankets reaching my chin. Groaning, I turned over and reached for him. Soft fingers brushed against my forehead, fading at my temple.
"I have to go, Bella." My hands found his wrist, wrapping solidly around them. "I promise, I'll text you, okay?"
No … stay.
But he was gone, his arms leaving my skin and his presence disappearing from my room, albeit not from my dreams.
I discovered the next morning he had wiped his presence from the house just as well. As I made my way around the apartment with Emmett and Alice's help, readying for my trip to the doctor, each small trace of him that had disappeared left my heart a little emptier, my head wondering whether our rainy Sunday afternoon had ever happened.
The only confirmation I had was the nondescript number in my phone and a series of text messages I was willing to guard with my life. Trevor and his inane texts didn't leave my mind the rest of the day.
After returning to work with two torn ligaments, one bruised muscle, a casted foot, and two crutches, I tried desperately to focus, to perform the most interesting tasks, to immerse myself in my editing, formatting, and styling. Nothing drew my attention more than the small plastic device sitting less than a foot from my hand at all times. I had begun to wonder if I had dreamed his promise to text when my phone began to vibrate, nearly collapsing from the edge of my desk while I jumped out of my skin.
"Shit!" I bit the inside of my cheek, praying the unbidden curse was low enough no one else heard it. In seconds, my cell was in my hands.
I hadn't dreamt it.
5:03 pm: Ready to turn into a princess, Cinderella, or is your carriage still a pumpkin?
I snickered at the reference, simultaneously blushing, and responded.
5:04: I don't think Emmett would appreciate you calling him a gourd.
So began the natural course of the weeks which would follow.
After obtaining the gentlemanly approval for texting me at work, we initiated a repertoire which would have put even the most experienced teenage texters to shame.
Text after text, conversations which would stretch through the day and into the night on inane topics like the color of the underside of a sea turtle and whether a zebra really was black with white stripes or white with black stripes. Music, movies, and cars; favorites, families, and friends; world politics, popular literature, school and careers; anything and everything coursed through the air waves, and nothing was off limits – except for the past, of course.
That was a subject neither of us seemed willing to touch with a ten-foot pole.
For now, though, the past never seemed to matter; we had enough to keep us occupied between our daily lives and the pieces of one another fate had never allowed us to fit together.
Days passed, days with his words, but never his voice, his presence, the warmth of his skin against mine. It was too soon. I had talked him into it myself, stupidly claiming his own good, knowing that I was really just scared to see him again. Scared he'd come back and I'd be wrong, because now that I was right, I barely knew what to think. But steadily, a rising panic began to hum in the back of my mind.
I couldn't have pointed it out and said 'here', couldn't have laid a finger on exactly what was bothering me, but I noticed it a few days after our first text; a light jump, moments of a tightly wound nervous twitch which built until I was restless and harried, searching for an indefinable point, the answer that wouldn't come.
Unsurprisingly, my anxiety must have shimmered through my written word. I always had been an open book.
Two weeks after our perfect Sunday, I woke to my usual crack-of-dawn text; however, this morning, I wondered if I was still sleeping.
7:17 am: Wear something extra warm today.
It was an enigma at best.
I sat on my bed staring at my phone, unable to decipher his warning. It was the end of October, but the end of October in the South meant bright sunshine and fifty degree weather, with the barest chance of a wind chill of forty-eight.
It didn't make any sense to my sleep-inebriated mind, but I wore a cardigan over my long sleeved tee and long underwear beneath my jeans anyhow, deciding that obeying was better than freezing. I nearly dropped my purse trying to peel off the cardigan when I crutched outside into the warmer than usual October air.
Emmett burst out laughing and tossed his singular crutch into the backseat while I struggled to get into the car. His booted left foot allowed him the ability to drive, while my torn and bruised right ankle left me completely helpless when it came to transportation. Unless I wanted to take the bus.
Ew.
Instead, I glared at my chauffeur, nearly whacking him in the head with my rubber-bottomed instruments of death while I tossed them into the car.
"You're such a gentleman."
"You're the one bundled up on a perfect day … Buggy." He drawled the last word.
"Fuck you," I deadpanned. I hated that nickname. Renee had heard Dad call me Bella-bug one time and decided that it was funnier as Buggy. If, at twelve, I would have known how, I'd have shoved a stiletto in her mouth. Emmett knew how much I hated it, and therefore loved to use it to make fun of me when I did stupid things – or as he said, when I acted like my mother.
Talk about adding insult to insult.
Emmett, being the other born and bred Northerner, was perfectly comfortable in jeans, a tee, and a short-sleeved button down shirt. I wished I was in my knitted, white, three-quarter length sweater and no long underwear. I pulled out my phone.
8:34 am: You had better have a damn good reason I'm in more than one layer. It's almost in the 60's out here.
His response wasn't long in coming.
8:39 am: Just trust me. And let me know when Emmett's good and gone.
I stared at the phone, feeling as though something should be clicking by now. I had nothing.
Emmett dropped me off at work a little after nine, and by nine thirty I was busy working away at the same amount of clue I had – nothing. The screen was as blank as my mind, and I felt more than a little exhausted, jumps, jitters, and nervous curiosity aside. Trevor had never responded to my last text, which was more than unusual.
In all honestly, it's not that I had nothing to do, it's just that I had no focus left to do it with. My mind was scattered over this layer and that, picking topics and fooling with daydreams, lost in lush, green, mossy, wet enchanted forests of ancient history, dripping with lichen and moss.
The sound of his voice saturated it all.
"Bella?"
"Hmm?"
"Your job must be thrilling."
My eyes snapped open. Edward?
"Tred-ver!" It was a hushed whisper, so convoluted and spitting right out of my dream world that I just prayed he would assume what he wanted to hear.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew I shouldn't draw attention to us, but I couldn't help the bounce in my seat at his smug, off-center grin, followed by my pathetic attempt at standing, which turned into more of a forward free-fall.
Pushing the door to my office closed, he stepped forward and caught me effortlessly, pulling me upright as I slung my arms around his neck. His chuckle rumbled through my bones.
"Good to see you, too."
"Sorry." I pulled back, trying to retake my seat in my desk chair, but his arms locked tighter around me, holding me upright. Oh. Okay.
"Why are you apologizing? I could live for a greeting like that every day."
I felt the blush this time, spreading thick across my cheeks. Automatically, I turned the spotlight back on him and smacked his chest.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
"Spending my Friday how I want, for once." He raised an eyebrow and tightened his fingers along my back.
"What?" I was genuinely confused. He wanted to spend the day at work with me?
Trevor laughed.
"We're playing hooky. Now, get your crutches, Hobbles, we've got a good drive ahead of us."
"What – I – but – I'm working," I hissed. He rolled his eyes.
"You seem very busy." He nodded at my blank computer screen. My blush deepened.
"What about the bookstore? You told me you had to work today."
He grinned, and his voice turned gravelly.
"I'm just so," he coughed twice, "very sick. I don't think it'd be good for me to work today." He frowned. "You aren't going to deprive me of my medicine, are you Bella?"
No. I don't ever want to leave your side and lose you again.
"I guess not," I mumbled instead, shoving backwards and plopping into my desk chair. "What about 'staying out of the spotlight'?"
"That's where it's brilliant," he grinned and moved around to lean against the wood, hands stuffed into his pockets. "You're at work … I'm at work … so long as we get back before five, no one will have any reason to ask questions. Emmett picks you up at five thirty, right?"
I was silenced. I didn't have any strenuous, up-and-coming due dates, no meetings planned; in all honesty, today was set up to be a particularly boring Friday. It actually wasn't a bad plan. And, all of a sudden, since the moment his voice had infiltrated my daydreams, the bundle of nerves buried at the back of mind had begun to uncoil.
It was weird.
"Bella."
I looked up when his hand found mine, the warmth of his palm soaking through my skin, my name slicing through my thoughts.
"Stop thinking. Just come with me."
And then he used his greatest weapon against me. The one word which had been both of our downfall, once upon a story.
"Please?"
I should never have looked into his eyes.
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