Thanks to Writeontime and Ciaobella27.
I don't own Twilight.
Some of my best memories come from late afternoons and early evenings spent with friends on campus. I remember the sadness that would momentarily distract me from the conversations I was engaged in when I realized that no matter how perfect a day was, it would have to end. A need to capture the moment and make the day last forever would flare up inside me, but it would quickly disappear, because someone would say something, and I'd have to laugh, or come up with something just as wonderful to say in response, and the day would end, but an even better one would start. It went on and on.
It's not dark out yet, but the sun has almost set. Last week, the week before, and for weeks and weeks before that, I would breathe a sigh of relief because the day was over, and I could sleep, and maybe I'd wake up to something completely different, or maybe I wouldn't get out of bed at all. I don't feel relieved that the day is coming to an end tonight, but I also don't feel the almost-sadness I felt creeping up inside me when the sun set on my day with Edward.
It's been three days since we ate cereal and pizza and lay on his bed, and I haven't heard from him. I haven't returned to the school or called him myself, and it confuses me how a day spent getting to know a person can actually push you further apart. Spending the day with him made it more awkward to be his friend, or acquaintance, or whatever I am. Spending the day with him and then not hearing from him makes me reluctant to go back, ever. I'll eventually run into Edward, since this town is small and he seems to be everywhere, all the time. I will have to wait until that happens to see how he acts, and whether or not he comes up with excuses that will annoy me and make me lose the respect I have for him.
I didn't really think about it the first day. My mind kept replaying the most interesting parts of our dialogue, or the most perplexing looks I caught on his face, or the silences that were anything but silent, the ones you never really want to fill. I didn't expect him to contact me immediately. I didn't think I would have so much trouble contacting him myself. Then yesterday, I realized that I couldn't do it. I had Mom's keys, and I was going to drive to the high school and park where Jake had parked, and I was going to send Edward a text letting him know I was there, but it never happened. There's no point going over why—it just didn't. And I could think about why he didn't ask me where I was and why I didn't show up, and I could convince myself that he was disappointed and decided not to contact me after that, but that's bullshit. If people want to talk to you, if they really want to hear your voice, and make plans, and ask you questions, and be a part of your life, they do it. He didn't. It makes me want to break small, delicate, pretty things and think mean thoughts about him.
Edward is the distraction I need from everything else going on in my life. But now it's like I need a distraction from my distraction, and while it would probably be smart to let go and forget about him, I really just want to hold on and think about how we were sharing a pillow, and the three seconds I allowed my hand to be on his thigh, and the seven seconds his hand spent on mine. I told Angela about those ten seconds. She thinks I really like him, and that he's not just a distraction. I obviously do, but it's impossible to allow myself to think that he could be anything else.
Angela also thinks that Edward must like me, but she's the friend who tells her friends the things they want to hear, no matter how absurd or unlikely or ridiculous. And of course I want to hear that he likes me, wants me, thinks about me even though he's not asking me to sit on his bed and eat the crusts he discards after finishing the cheesy part of his pizza. I want to hear these things, but I probably won't believe them even if he shows me a thousand times, or tells me in the prettiest sentences that make me want to spin around, and jump, and kiss, and do all the things you want to do when boys make you feel special.
'Special' is one of those words I want to erase from my vocabulary. It can also disappear from my brain. Useless. It's never a good thing when you think you're special, because you probably never are, and you probably never were, and eventually you figure that out. You figure it out when your boyfriend who swore you were the best, best, most special ever finds someone who makes him forget every minute you spent together. You figure it out when the relationship you thought was special and different is viewed by your friends, and family, and strangers everywhere as something dirty and cheap. Nothing more than a series of filthy words whispered in quiet, empty spaces, and a pretty, skillful mouth.
What does Edward think about my mouth? Was it pretty when I was eating Fruity Pebbles, or smiling, or pouting when he couldn't find his high school yearbook to show me the picture he had been describing? Has he thought about all of the things it's done and where it's been? Does he remember how it felt on his mouth, and neck, and everywhere else? None of the above? All of the above? Am I still thinking about this? Why do I care?
Probably because there's nothing quite like knowing that someone thinks about you. I'm not even talking about how romantic it is, or how sweet. Just the notion that you hold a tiny bit of power over that person, because something about you did something to them that makes them think about what you did, and how you did it. I like that. I remember each time I was told that instead of focusing on conversations with heads of state, someone was thinking about my eyes, the skin behind my ear, or the taste of my neck. The excitement made me dizzy. The contentment made me want to lie back and purr like a perfect little kitten. I was perfect and little and wanted and powerful. It was the best feeling.
I'll never forget that afternoon at Blair House. He was begging me to fuck him. Please, please, please. He couldn't break his "no sex" rule, but he wanted it so badly, and I was teasing him, telling him no, no, no because I promised we wouldn't, even though I knew, I just knew I was going to get on top and ride him, and feel him, and then he wouldn't be able to stop… The sharp knock on the door put an end to our afternoon. The flashing of my phone puts an end to this trip down memory lane. It also gives me a reason to stretch and smile and feel good, good, good, and I don't think anymore before I answer.
He asks me if I want to hang out. I tell him I do. He tells me he'll be over in a bit. I'm naked and looking for something to wear before we've hung up. He's wearing a red cap and missing the smile that doesn't annoy me. I try to find it, and it's almost there a few times, but I give up because forced smiles don't mean anything.
XxXxX
"Who are we hiding from?" I ask him in the dark. I lean in closely when I whisper the words. I shiver a little when he tells me we're not hiding. His mouth is too close to my ear and should be doing things to it, and I want him to shiver too, so I lean in closer when I tell him he's lying.
"My friends think I'm out tonight. When that red car leaves, we can turn on the light."
I look out the window with him and see the car parked across the street. "Is that your friend's car?"
"Yeah." He nods.
"He lives across the street from you?"
"Yeah, he moved in with his fiancée's family when he lost his job," Edward explains.
"That must suck."
He shrugs and keeps staring out the window.
"So you think he'd notice if your lights were on?" I ask.
He nods again.
"And you don't want him to know we're here."
More nodding and staring out the window.
"Was he at the bar that night?"
Edward finally turns and looks at me. His eyes are big and his frown is real. Apologetic. I want to rub my finger over it and make it disappear. Wipe it off.
"Yeah, but he's a good guy, Bella—"
"Whatever, I don't care what your friends think."
"No?" he asks.
I shake my head. "No. I judge them just as much as they judge me."
"You know nothing about them."
I'll probably have many chances to be honest with Edward and let him know how I think, and what I think. I could wait a few weeks or months to let him in, or I can just show him now. I'm not desperate enough to hang around someone who I have to be a different person for. I think Edward gets me. I don't want to push and push just to make sure, but it's almost like a reflex. See how far you can take things. See how vulgar you can get. See how long you can last without flashing a smile. It's almost exciting. It's definitely scary. Sometimes it's very final.
"I know enough," I say, running my fingers over the thin sheet covering his messy bed. "I know they're living here, they're really not attractive, they probably have shitty, dead-end jobs, because I doubt they're all teachers, or whatever. I know I'd never touch them with a ten-foot pole because I'm better than them, and I know you think I'm a terrible person for saying these things to you about your friends, but it's not like you're surprised. They're your friends, but you know I'm right. I'm here because you want to be around something different."
"And it makes no difference to you that they're good people," Edward says.
"Should it?"
"It should."
"Good or bad, people judged me. Excuse me for not giving enough of a fuck to give them the benefit of the doubt."
"You don't know that they judged you," Edward replies. "For all you know, they thought you were the victim, or that you did nothing wrong."
"Yes, yes. I'm sure there are lots of people like that, but I don't go around assuming everyone is like that, because most likely, that's not the case. And also, your friends laughed at me. I get it, they were at a bar, blah, blah, boys will be boys, ha ha, their buddy fucked the—"
"I apologized for that."
"I know you did, but you're awesome. We've established that."
"Have we?" he asks.
"Pretty much."
Jasper would say that Edward's a bad friend. Jasper would stick up for his boys no matter what. He'd kick a girl out if she badmouthed his friends. He thinks I'm disloyal and can't be trusted because I don't immediately react in the same way he does. Things are so black and white for him, but that's not me. The only thing I see in black and white is my life since everything that happened. I'm not ready to think things through and play in the grey areas yet, but it looks like Edward appreciates the grey. He spends some time there—maybe because he likes to think things through, or maybe it just seems like he does because he doesn't care enough either way.
"I'm sorry I was a dick to you earlier. In the car, I mean."
"Yeah, what's going on?" I ask him.
"Bad day."
"You don't want to talk about it."
He shrugs.
"Okay, I'll let you sulk," I say. "I'm just not sure why I'm here."
"Yeah, it was pretty selfish of me to ask you to hang out tonight."
"I don't mind. I got back at you by telling you that your friends are losers."
"For the most part, they are," he admits.
"See? How hard was that? I bet you feel better."
He laughs, and then he's reaching out and grabbing my hand. In the dark, there is nothing like the seconds you spend joining your fingers with someone else's for the first time. You feel every little thing. You make note of it all. You hold your breath for a second once your fingers are still, once his hand is no longer moving. It's just holding yours, resting there between two bodies, making everything quiet but the beat of your heart and the little breaths you finally take. It's old and new, familiar and unfamiliar. A first you can have a thousand times, but one that only matters those few times that lead to things that make you feel too much. And I know that he's going to make me feel too much.
A car starts outside, and we hear it drive off. Edward doesn't get up to turn on the light. By now, it's completely dark out, and I look out the window, up at the sky, wondering when it will be clear enough again to show me a star. I know nothing about them, just that sometimes they're there, and sometimes they're not. I'd like to see more of them, but most of the time I never think to look.
"Sometimes I just want to be in awe of something," I start, not sure if I'm talking to myself or talking to Edward. It's strange to hear myself speaking when I'm not responding to a question, or defending or explaining myself in some way. I take a second to recognize the voice, make sure it's mine, before I continue. "I want to wake up and feel like, oh my god, I'm alive. I remember waking up like that… knowing that maybe today I'll see something, or do something amazing. I'd make plans. I'd picture myself in the prettiest places, doing things. Swimming in this sea, finally reading that book, looking out at something, a monument, or some famous scenery, and it would be like… wow, this is amazing, I'm here. I don't care about any of that anymore. I never think these things. It's scary… like I've lost this part of me. I think it makes me dead inside."
My hand is still in his hand. Or maybe his hand is in mine. I like the silence and want it to continue, but he speaks.
"You're scared, so it has to mean something to you. You haven't lost it yet."
I want to tell him that's not enough, and then I want to keep talking. I don't know where it all came from, but everything I told him is everything that's been killing me for months. I guess I like sharing secrets in the dark. Maybe I'm waiting for him to hand me another yellow napkin. I look at our hands; it makes me think a lot. I've been talking about missing that sense of amazement, and wanting to look forward to new and wonderful things. This is new, and if this isn't amazing, it at least has the potential to become something that is. I don't know what to do with any of it, but I can lie here next to him until it's time to go. Time passes, and I think he's fallen asleep. I close my eyes and don't bother to stifle the yawn that escapes from me.
"I managed to fuck this up, didn't I?" he asks. He doesn't sound sleepy.
"Fuck what up?"
"Tonight."
"I don't know what tonight was supposed to be, so I can't make a fair assessment of—"
"I wanted to spend some time with you," he cuts me off. "I thought about it until I couldn't think anymore, and I called you. It's like the book you wanted to read, or the scenery…"
He stops. I want to tell him that I'm in awe of everything that's happening, the words he's saying, the person he is. I want to tell him, but I want the rest of the words said out loud tonight to be his, because they're everything mine can't be right now. So I don't say anything. I move closer and kiss his cheek. It's easy to stay here, my head resting against his shoulder, my fingers in his. It's easy to stay, so I stay. I close my eyes and plan an endless night of kisses, or a night of endless kisses. I see it all, and it's the prettiest. I think about it until I can't think anymore, and I have to do something about it. Just for tonight, I'm alive.
I don't think their evening ends here. I was pretty nervous writing/posting this chapter, and I'd love to know what you think. Or just stop by and say "hello"...