Twilight character names belong to Stephenie Meyer. I own Dodge and Burn.
Much love and thanks to Editor Azucena , Pre-readers BtwntheStacks and Lemonmartinis and Beta-MsKathy
I just left a Comic Con party to come post this chapter...that's how much I appreciate you guys and your support of this story. xoxo
Dodge and Burn / Chapter Five / The Real Edward Cullen
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Bella wakes up the next day unusually early. The view from her bedroom window glows with every shade of green as the sun lights up her garden. She sits up with a start and decides to attack the day like a warrior.
She puts on her camouflage khakis and paint-splattered tank top and heads to the paint store. She's always thought about painting her bedroom rose pink to match the wild pillows she found at Anthropologie, but now the idea has a new appeal. What better assurance that you'll never have a wife-cheating member of the male species in your bed than to paint your bedroom walls bright pink.
.
Of course, Mario at Dunn Edwards paint store gets nervous when she describes the size of her bedroom and what she has in mind. She's already filled her cart with edging tape, fresh rollers, and tarp.
"That's a lot of pink, Ms. Swan. Are you sure you want it this bright?"
Mario knows her penchant for color. Every room in her house is a different shade and he's sold her most of the paint. This time, however, his kind face looks surprisingly concerned.
"I want it brighter, Mario, but this is the brightest you have."
"If you don't mind me asking…did you have a fight with your boyfriend or something? This isn't the first time I've seen this happen."
She stares at him, dumbfounded. "Well, something like that."
He nods. "I thought so. Will you do me a favor Ms. Swan and just buy a sample can and paint it on a large white cardboard. Then move it around the room—live with it a bit and see if it's really what you want."
She huffs and takes the small can. "Okay. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to be sure."
He lets out a large breath of relief and smiles with satisfaction the entire time he rings her up.
.
She isn't even finished painting the cardboard on her back lawn before she says a silent thank you to Mario. The color is like a scream of Pepto-Bismol. She's pretty sure she'd develop an anxiety disorder sleeping in a room that shocking.
After cleaning up and changing into something presentable, she pulls herself together for her lunch meeting with a new couple. This whole paint fiasco has messed up her radar. She can't even tell if they have the connection or she even wants to work with them. It's maddening.
Feeling even more edgy, she spends the afternoon working on a page in her art journal. She makes an angry collage of couples torn out of proof sheets where she crosses out the guys' face and writes unflattering sayings around their heads. She knows she's being childish but it feels incredibly good. By the end she's laughing.
.
The day proves to be a kaleidoscope of emotions. When her friend and trainer, Leah, shows up for dinner, her mindset has shifted again. Melancholy has set in as she wonders what she could have done to prevent the decimation of her and Edward's friendship.
Leah, true to form, shares her frank opinion while they eat take-out from the nearby vegan restaurant.
"Come on, Bella…what an ass. Why are you blaming yourself? He's just a despicable cheater. A man whore."
Bella digs her chopsticks back into the white box of brown rice and vegetables. "Maybe I feel somewhat responsible because he didn't want to meet me in the first place. He turned down the job. He said no five different ways and I kept on pushing."
"And that entitles him a free pass to get into your panties?"
"You are positively poetic Leah…really."
"He could probably sniff the desperation off you. I mean, how long has it been since you've done the deed?"
"A long, long time," Bella laments.
"Exactly. Man whores have a sixth sense for that stuff."
"He's not a man whore."
"You need a real man," Leah proclaims.
"And where pray tell would I find such a creature?"
"That's the problem with L.A., isn't it? If you're a woman over forty you don't exist. Maybe it's time to just hire a man."
"What are you talking about?" Bella looks irritated.
"I'm not joking. I'm going to hire you an escort who'll take care of your needs. My friend Kathleen knows of this super high-end place with gorgeous young men. Their sole focus is pleasuring you in every way. She said it was the best oral she's ever had."
Bella's eyes grow wide. "No way. Can you imagine doing that with a total stranger?" She pulls her thighs tightly together. "I sure can't."
Leah pulls out her iPhone and her fingers fly over the little screen. She smiles and then holds it up for Bella. "I would be just fine with having a man this fine between my legs."
"Oh my, he's beautiful," Bella admits.
"And Kathleen says he has amazing staying power. She calls him Mr. O."
Bella feels the heat move up her chest and her cheeks get hot. Instead of the beautiful boy, she pictures Edward on top of her, kissing her as his slow thrusts turn her inside out.
This isn't helping…at all.
"That's not what I need, really. I want to be listened to, to be loved…to be adored. Not just mechanical sex no matter how hot it is."
"You want a fairy tale, girlfriend. Good luck with that." She shuts off her cell phone and reaches for the last tofu spring roll.
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They end their girl's night in the living room by the fire. Leah is endlessly entertaining with her stories of her array of clients. As a personal trainer, she's learned that more often than not the more money her clients have the weirder they get.
She has her bare feet up on the coffee table, her toned legs fully exposed. Bella admires the comfort Leah has in her body. She's helped Bella become more aware and appreciative of her own body and she loves her for it.
She notices her friend squinting and studying something on the mantle.
"What?" asks Bella.
Leah points. "Hey, look over there. Is that money coming out of that vase?"
Bella looks up and her heart skips. It's the teal vase that she would stash Edward's payments in, and peeking out of the top are green bills. She slowly gets up and walks over to the mantle before pulling the large wade of money out of the vase.
"So, what? You don't believe in banks anymore? I don't know about you, but I'd do the under-the-mattress thing before I'd use that vase."
Bella sits down, the cash spilling out over her lap as she organizes it. It doesn't take long for her to figure out that it's every dollar that she paid Edward for their sessions. He must have stuffed it in the jar when she went to the yard to get his guitar before they parted ways.
"This is all the money I paid Edward for our sessions," she explains quietly. She slowly straightens the bills and puts them in order. It's as if her life will make sense if she can organize this small part of it.
"Really? He gave you back all of your money?"
"Yes, every dollar," Bella confirms as she finishes counting the stack.
"Okay, then I stand corrected," Leah says. "He's not a man whore. He's just a man."
"Yeah," Bella agrees sadly.
Just a man.
..~*~..
The money lies in a heap on her dining room table for several days and she starts to get ideas about what to do with it. She considers folding each bill into an origami swan and mailing the bunch to him in an old shoebox. The problem with that idea is that his wife might find it. Bella's not willing to hurt her and stir up that pot, considering nothing actually happened between them.
Then it occurs to her that it might be more productive to just donate the money to a women's organization in his name, then sign him up for their mailing list and email blasts. This is appealing until she realizes that she has neither his address nor his email.
Grabbing a manila envelope, she stuffs the bills inside before picking up her phone. She decides to text him and keep it simple.
Can I get your address? I have something I need to mail you.
Immediately a text comes back from her phone provider informing her that the number doesn't have a texting feature. Of course the Neanderthal doesn't text.
She grits her teeth and presses his name in her contact list.
When he picks up, his voice is so weak that she has to check her phone to make sure she dialed correctly.
"Edward?"
"Yes?" He suddenly starts to cough violently.
She holds the phone away from her ear until he stops. "Are you all right?"
"I'm okay." He coughs again.
"You don't sound okay. Look, I've got something to give you and I need your address."
"What are you going to give me?" Every breath is punctuated by wheezing. "It's not the money is it?" he warily asks.
She doesn't answer and there's a long silence finally broken by another coughing spell.
"I don't want the money. I don't." He sounds like a man that's been kicked, and hard.
"Well, I don't either. You earned it…it's yours. Look, if you don't tell me I will find out other ways. You have no idea how tenacious I can be."
"I'm sure you can be." He coughs and although he's covered the mouthpiece she can hear him gasping for air.
She feels twisted asking, but she's compelled, as she hears him fight to take in air. "You sound so sick. Is you wife or someone taking care of you?"
The silence is deafening.
"No," he finally admits.
Bella remembers then that his wife was on a long business trip. "Do you have any food in the house?"
"Please, don't…"
"Give me your address." Her voice is strong, powerful. Her warrior mode is back.
He sighs. "Eight-eleven North Martel. It's the loft in the back. I'll leave the key for the mailbox under the mat. You can leave whatever it is in there."
"It won't fit in the mailbox."
He pauses. "Look, I'm sleeping a lot. I may not hear the door."
"Then leave the house key under the mat. I'll just stick it right inside the door."
"Isabella…"
She hangs up. She can't bring herself to argue anymore with a sick man.
.
She questions herself for the next couple of hours but finally breaks down and goes to the drug store to pick up some cough and cold medicine. Then she heads over to Canter's Deli and gets a tub of chicken noodle soup and a bunch of other stuff like macaroni salad, bagels and cream cheese…comfort food. She can't stop herself—it's the mother in her. Even though she's still angry, it's her nature to help him if he's sick; it's just not in her character to abandon him.
When she pulls up to the address he gave her, it isn't anything like she expected. It's new and industrial looking—either condos or high-end apartments. She thought they'd live in a different kind of place, something that felt like a home. This modern design is very cold and sterile.
After finding the key under the doormat she stands in front of the door for a minute debating. She's done so much more that she should've, but he sounded so sick. She knows that men are terrible at asking for help. She finally surrenders to her impulse and unlocks the door.
The floors are polished cement and there is a large abstract canvas hanging on the wall facing the door. Despite it's muted colors, she decides that she likes it and wonders if he picked it out, or Lauren, or perhaps they picked it as a couple. Her stomach starts to turn, but then she refocuses. She steps into the loft just far enough to place the items on the nearby table.
She perks her ear, listening, and everything is silent until his coughing starts up again. She takes another step inside.
"Edward," she calls out. "I brought you some medicine. I'm coming in."
Silence.
She steps forward until she's in the doorway leading to a huge room with high ceilings. There is an enormous abstract painting leaning against the wall. She remembers him talking about preferring really big paintings—he must have meant it. As for the rest of the decor, other than the bed and nightstand in the far corner by the balcony, there's hardly any furniture. A couch, desk, and small table with two chairs pretty much are all she can see as her eyes scan the room.
Her eyes move back to the bed piled high with blankets. Only Edward's head is in view.
"Edward?"
He coughs. "You weren't going to come in." Even in his weakness he sounds frustrated.
She steps up closer to the bed and is surprised at how pale and drawn he is. He also looks like he's trembling but she realizes he's shivering even though the temperature of the room is fine.
"You look like hell."
He moans and wedges his eyes shut. "Thanks. Can you leave now?"
After appraising all the blankets he's piled on to stay warm, she moves even closer and notices the bedside table. Besides the clock turned on its face and box of Kleenex, there's a jumbo jug of whiskey like they sell at Costco with a short half-filled tumbler next to it. The screw-on cap for the whiskey is perched on the edge of the table. Right next to it rests his wedding band, casting a burnished gold glow. Something about the mood of this desperate still-life makes her deeply unsettled.
She looks over her shoulder and sees the kitchen. She carries over her bags and slowly empties them on the slate countertop. As she methodically goes through the cupboards to locate a bowl, mug, and silverware, her mind is computing, noting the lack of food in the cupboard, the stark lack of accessories or color. When she realizes that there are no dishtowels, just a loose roll of paper towels on the counter, her hypothesis is formed.
Looking back toward Edward she sees that he's still resting with his eyes closed so she anxiously wanders over to the bathroom, examines it, then lastly steps into a closet the size of a small room. Her heart is pounding as she stands among a sparse collection of shirts, jeans, and T-shirts, a few jackets and nondescript boxes. Her conclusion is indisputable.
There's no trace of a woman anywhere in this place.
The wedding ring. "Her name is Lauren." A business trip. "She's camera shy." What the hell?
Her head is spinning. She presses her hands together wondering how her life became a mystery novel. What does all of this mean?
She quietly returns to the main room and studies Edward. He's so out of it his eyes are still closed, and even lying still he looks tormented. This man apparently is living an inner life she can't even imagine.
Steadying herself, she quietly focuses on the job she's here to do. She faces the side table, rights the clock, and carefully places the wedding band over the alarm button where it'll be easily noticed. She then methodically screws the cap back on the whisky and carries it and the glass tumbler to the kitchen.
When she returns she has a bowl of soup and a cup of tea that she sets down in its place.
"Edward," she says softly as she slowly rocks his shoulder. "I want you to eat something. Can you sit up?"
His eyes flutter open and he groans.
"Come on. You need to eat something. How long has it been?"
"A while," he says weakly.
"This will help you get better. It's chicken soup from Canter's."
She can tell by the way his eyes open further and he slowly edges himself up that he's surprised by her kindness. He struggles to sit up between coughing fits, but he finally does and she offers him the bowl.
They sit silently as he carefully takes sips. His lips are cracked and his eyes bloodshot.
"You look dehydrated. Have you been drinking anything but whiskey?"
He looks up at her with a blank stare and mutely shakes his head. He keeps sipping the soup. She's relieved at least to see him eating.
.
Returning to the kitchen, she finds bottles of water in the near-empty fridge and she carries one over to his bed with the cold medicine. After a few more bites he weakly hands her the bowl of soup.
"I can't eat anymore." He sounds defeated. It's unnerving seeing such a big, strong man so weak.
"Okay," she says gently as she sets the bowl down. "I'm going to put the rest in the fridge along with some other food I brought. But before I go, you need to take this."
"What is it?"
"It's just cold medicine. It'll help with your symptoms."
"Why are you doing this?" he asks, confusion weighing down his features.
"Because I'm crazy," she teases, smiling as she holds the medicine out.
He looks like he's going to respond, then thinks better of it. So he takes the pills and downs them with some of the bottled water before sinking back under the covers. "I'm so tired."
She stands then smoothes the blanket from where she sat. "Get some rest. Here, I'm leaving the water and your phone right here. Will you call me later to let me know you're okay?"
"Do you care?" he asks. His sad eyes reflect more than his illness; it's as if his spirit is bruised black and blue.
She smiles, hoping to comfort him. "I do. And you know what? I'm going to take your key and if I don't hear from you I'm going to come back. And we know you don't want that, so you better call me!" She keeps her voice playful, understanding that in this moment he needs a friend and maybe she's the only one around.
"Isabella, I'm so sorry…" His face is tormented.
"Shush," she says, pulling his blankets back around his neck. "Go to sleep. We'll talk later."
"Thank you," he whispers before his eyes fall shut again.
.
She cleans up, puts away the food, and lets herself out. As she pulls away she wonders about wedding bands, sterile lofts with big dramatic paintings, and a man broken because he may never get back what he's lost.
She also realizes that today, she finally met the real Edward Cullen.
.
On the way home she buys a latte and stops at the park to watch the kids in the playground. They tumble down the slides, swing across the monkey bars, and climb the structures, laughing, yelling, and throwing sand at each other-all without a care in the world. She feels strangely relaxed watching all the little people with their big moments.
The young boy in front of her is apparently trying to dig a hole to China. He works his yellow plastic shovel with total concentration and determination, pushing any other kid away that comes too close to the unstable edges of his project. When his mother gathers him to head home he throws a tantrum, flailing on the sand.
She looks up at Bella apologetically as he screams. "I just don't know what to do with him," she explains. "He does this every week."
And yet she brings him back. Bella ponders. We flail, we dig holes, we stumble, we fall down, and yet we keep coming back for more. Bella knows as she returns to her car that she's no wiser than the flailing young boy or his mother.
She'll be going back to Edward's…of that she is certain.
..~*~..
She calls him at six p.m. and it rings five times before going to voicemail-the same at seven p.m. By eight she's too nervous to sit still, and she gets in her car. This time she has brought along some juice, and more supplies.
When she lets herself into the loft, it's dark inside. She turns on a light and slowly approaches his bed. The blankets are now in a pile on the floor and he's lying in his boxer shorts on top of the sheets, a sheen of sweat covering him.
"Edward," she whispers.
His eyes spring open and then squint from the light. "Bella? Is that you?"
"Yes," she answers. "You didn't call me so I got worried."
"I'm sorry, was I supposed to call you? I'm so out of it; I don't even know what time it is." He curls up as he coughs again and then flops back down flat. "I'm so hot."
"Lemme see," she says, moving to the side of the bed. She rests her hand on his forehead. "Oh man, you're burning up."
He nods weakly and then starts coughing and wheezing. She can tell it's getting harder for him to breathe.
"I was dreaming about my mom and dad. There were talking to me," he says with a shaky voice."
Bella looks over at him, concerned. He's even worse than she realized.
"I think you have an infection. We've got to get you to a doctor. Do you think you can stand and walk with my help? Since it's late I'll have to take you to the emergency room."
"No!" he roars with a surprising ferocity, lifting himself up on his elbows. "No hospitals!" He collapses back into the sheets, spent.
"You could have pneumonia, Edward. We can't mess around with this."
"No. I hate hospitals. They kill people and I refuse to go. Promise me, Isabella."
She looks at him long and hard. She can tell he means business.
Damn you…difficult man.
She nods then starts to pace, trying to figure out what to do. She suddenly thinks of Angela and rushes to her purse to get her phone.
.
While she waits for Angela, Bella tries to get Edward to drink more water. She coerces him to take two Tylenol and rotates cool, wet cloths on and off his burning forehead. Despite her best efforts he's looking even worse. By the time Angela arrives, he's not making sense.
Angela gets to work quickly and listens to his lungs, confirming there's a crackle sound. She then takes his temperature. "We need to get him to a hospital—I want chest X-rays to see if there's fluid in his lungs. I'm calling an ambulance."
She leans over Edward. "I'm a doctor, Edward, and we're taking you to the hospital so you can get proper care."
"No," he growls. "I refuse due to my religious beliefs." His eyes are wild.
Angela arches her eyebrow and looks at Bella. "You weren't kidding about this one."
"Did you bring drugs and stuff with you like I asked?" Bella asks, trying not to panic.
Angela sighs. "Yes. But I don't like this. If there isn't significant improvement by tomorrow he won't have a choice."
Bella watches, concerned, as Angela gives him an antibiotic shot. She hands Bella a full round of Amoxicillin and Extra-Strength Mucinex while explaining the dosages. She looks at her watch.
"An Oxygen Concentrator would help if you could get him to take regular oxygen therapy. He has to tolerate the facemask or at least the cannula tubes in his nose. If you want, we can head over to my office and I'll loan you one of ours."
"It's so late. You'd do that?"
"He's seriously ill, Bella. If he's refusing to go to the hospital we need to give him every advantage we can. You should set up a humidifier, too." Before they head out, Angela helps her change his sheets by rolling him from one side of the bed to the other. He's so out of it, Bella's convinced that he doesn't even understand what's going on.
.
The night is eerily quiet outside the building where Angela has her offices. When Bella's car is loaded with the equipment and everything is explained to her one last time, she turns to give Angela a big hug. "You're such an amazing friend. I'll never forget this."
Angela smiles and wipes away Bella's tear. "You know I'd doing anything for you. You've always been there for Carly and I. You're family to us. Now call me in the morning with an update."
"I will."
.
When Bella returns to the loft, Edward is drifting in and out and seems delirious. She goes to put another cool rag on his forehead, and he suddenly grabs her hand.
"Lauren," he gasps.
She stills, not sure what she should do or say.
"Lauren, you came back." His voice wavers, full of raw emotion, and it shatters her.
Her instincts take over. She gently wipes his face down. "It's okay, Edward. It's okay. I'm here."
He visibly relaxes as she continues to touch and soothe him, slowly sliding the cool cloth across his chest and shoulders and up his neck.
"Don't leave again," he whispers.
Her breath catches to see him so open and vulnerable. For a moment she wishes she were Lauren, there to heal not just his body but his broken heart.
"I'm not going anywhere, Edward," she says softly. "So you just focus on getting better."
His hand finds hers and holds it tight. His whisper is so quiet she barely makes out the words.
"Thank you."
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xoxo
abbie
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