Nina and Tracy are funny, and make this much less stupid than it is when I'm done writing it.
I don't own Twilight, or the ugly shit SM wears to premieres.
I don't enjoy lying here watching the thoughts that keep running around in my head stomp over the better ones, the hot ones, the productive ones I want to hold onto. They continue to destroy and spread to every part of my brain, and I'm helpless when it's this late. I just let them. I think about waking him up, but it's not really an option. What I have could be contagious.
Edward is exposed to my words and thoughts and feelings all day. He takes them with smiles, frowns, frustration, disbelief, annoyance, and then more smiles, a grin or two, a laugh, but only because at this point I'm trying hard to take away the dark and make him forget how often I throw him into it. He's not stupid, but he plays along.
Days go by, and he's still here. Weeks, and no one's bored. And if he is, he's a wonderful actor, so hand him the Oscar, and obviously the Golden Globe too, and anything else that would make him get up, smile, and make a speech. They'd want him everywhere, because he's the prettiest, the loveliest, and he'd flash a smile that would make women gasp, and then a second later his eyes would get so round, and they'd all go "aw" and wonder what just happened.
It's not right. One minute you're thinking God, I just want to be somewhere else and open my legs for him, maybe even here, grab his hand and take it to the place that can silently say "please, please, please" better than anything said out loud. But then he does something, or fails to do anything at all, and he's too sweet and innocent, and your fingers are in his hair, and your words are soothing, and maybe someday you'll be the best mom. And then you hate the place your thoughts have taken you, and you shake them away with a look of disgust on your face that makes the person sitting across from you wonder what's wrong, turning around to see what the cause might be. But it's fake disgust, the kind you convince yourself you're feeling when visions of domestic bliss and babies and calm and prettiness enter your head.
I sleep so close to him. My leg always flung over him, keeping him here, making him mine, and it's pathetic how we cling, how we nuzzle, how fingers are always searching for fingers, holding tight. I'm always thinking "he's such a girl" and then kicking myself for thinking stupid things. What's so bad about having a good guy, a sweet guy?
XxXxX
Once he moves onto his back in his sleep, I'm free. Downstairs, there are cupcakes I made earlier, for Bree's birthday. Bree helped. She turned my small, deformed cupcakes into edible art, and then we didn't have enough frosting for the rest, until Emmett told us about the frosting Esme hides in the pantry. Who does she think she's fooling? I tasted the chocolate cake she made and was all yum, um, ah. She beamed. Her grandmother's dark chocolate frosting. Sure. Except I know that frosting... it's rich and creamy and lived under a red lid.
The house is quiet; the lights are off. I use the glow from my phone to choose my cupcake, and one for Edward when he wakes up.
"Are you sleeping with both my sons now?"
Even when I'm expecting it, her voice makes me jump. So in the middle of the night, in the dark, my jump is accompanied by a small heart attack.
"That's Emmett's shirt you're wearing," she says, and the light is on, temporarily blinding me.
I look down at the long, loose t-shirt, and smile. Her tone was light, like she's just playing with me. Nothing malicious. Almost friendly.
"Edward let me borrow it. I assumed it belonged to him."
"Emmett outgrew it years ago, but Edward never grew into it."
"It's pretty huge," I observe.
"I bought that t-shirt for Emmett when Carlisle and I were visiting family in Chicago. Have you been to Chicago, Bella?"
"No."
"My husband is from Chicago. We met when he was out here visiting friends in Port Angeles."
"Edward told me about that." My smile is sweet, but it's Betty Crocker sweet, and it tells her I know she got knocked up and Edward is the reason why they got married.
"How long are you staying here, Bella?"
"I'm not sure."
"Bree mentioned that you want to return to New York. Do you have friends there?" she asks.
"Yes."
"Is that handsome boyfriend of yours in New York?"
"No, Edward's upstairs."
She ignores me and continues. "So tall, all that blond hair. What was his name? James? George?"
"Jasper," I correct her. "Jasper Hale. He'll be at the wedding Edward and I are attending next month. The one in California that I was telling Carlisle about."
"Speaking of Carlisle, could you go upstairs and put something on, dear? You're running around my house practically naked. There's a young, impressionable girl living here, a married man, and—"
"I apologize. I have shorts on under this." I lift up the t-shirt to show her. "Don't worry, I'll try not to set a bad example for your daughter."
"And keep your clothes on in front—"
"I'm not interested in your husband, Mrs. Cullen. I know you like joking about it, but I don't have a thing for older men."
She laughs, and asks me who or what I have a thing for.
"I go for... the best," I tell her. And I get the best. "Excuse me, Edward's going to wake up and wonder where I am. He loves these. I want to surprise him when he wakes up."
"Such a sweet girl. He's going to miss you when you leave."
"Oh. It won't be for long. He's not staying, either."
Nothing upsets mothers like Esme as much as their little boy leaving, never coming back, far away with someone they can't stand.
XxXxX
"She can't bully me," I tell him, slipping the dress over my head. I don't need to try it on right now, but showing it off will distract me from the absolute rage I am feeling.
"I'm always extremely polite in social situations, especially with strangers, but I think she mistook that for being scared and embarrassed, and she thought she could use whatever complex she thinks I have against me. No. I was just being nice because she's your mother. And I will continue to be polite, because I respect you and your family, but—"
"Ignore her," he says with a sigh. "How many times do I have tell you? All of us ignore her. You see the way she treats Bree, and that's her own kid. Who was very sick. We ignore her."
"I've never seen her treat Bree unfairly."
"Good. Less embarrassing for us."
"Help me pull this down?" He stands up and walks over to me, but his hands are on my hips and stomach, ignoring the dress. The look I give him in the mirror tells him I'm not playing, and a second later we're staring at my dress together. I'd like to say it takes his breath away, but I think he's more interested in skin and chest and long hair.
"You can't wear that to the wedding," he says, pulling me toward my bed. "They'll mistake you for the bride."
He sits, and I stand in front of him, because no amount of kisses or touches will tempt me enough to do anything that could ruin this dress.
"It's champagne. The bride will be wearing white. And it's just a simple slip dress."
"It's not simple. It looks very heavy." His hands lift the skirt up a little, then drops it back down.
"They're just beads, and sequins. Pretty?"
"Yeah. Will you be wearing a bra?"
Down come the very thin straps, and his mouth is everywhere.
"Ah... Jesus. No, I don't need one. Edward..."
The sucking and tongue stuff and biting stop for a second. "Yes?"
"Let's be serious for a second. Please."
He holds me to him using his legs, and of course I stumble and fall into his lap. His head is resting against my chest, his breath is hot, but he's being good.
"I'm still embarrassed. I don't want to spend any more time there," I tell him.
"I'm sorry."
"And I won't stay holed up in your room. You can stay here tonight, if you'd like."
"No one cares, Bella. I promise you. Dad was on the phone and Bree wasn't paying attention."
"I saw the look on their faces. And who cares? I can't sit in the same room as that woman if she's going to be cruel. Your entire family was sitting there, and that joke was..."
"It was lame, and immature," he finishes.
"Yes, and funny, you can say it. And if a stranger wants to tell it on TV, that's fine, but she said she'd seen that episode, and that it was her favorite, and she kept it on and laughed. You don't expect me to want to spend another second in her home. First of all, what kind of mother laughs at a joke like that in front of her children? She wouldn't have laughed if it hadn't been about me. She would've been embarrassed, or just sat there, pretending she hadn't heard it. I saw how she was when she was watching The Hangover with Bree and Emmett. She did it on purpose. Because embarrassing her son's girlfriend by increasing the stupid volume and laughing at a joke about her small chest and how the President could have possibly thought he could fu—"
"You're right."
"I am."
"You shouldn't have to put up with that," he says. He kisses me between my breasts and pulls up the straps of my dress.
"She hates me. And I'm done. I tried to respect her, I really did, but I have my own asshole parents to deal with. I don't care about yours."
"What do you want me to do? Talk to her? She's crazy."
"No, don't."
"Then what?" he asks me.
I know that when my mouth is right by his ear and I whisper my words, he listens better, and knows exactly what to do, and what to say, when I'm done.
"I want to sleep with you, and wake up with you. Stay here."
"I can't just move in. Your parents..." he starts. "Do you want me to get my own place?"
My heart is beating a little faster than normal, and I look away. Of course I want that, but I don't want to pressure him. I won't even ask him to do that. Still, if it's something he's open to, I want to make sure he considers it, so I have to handle this right.
"No, I don't want you spending money you could be saving for school."
"Do you want it?"
"I don't deserve it," I tell him.
"Bella, I worship you. What part of that don't you understand?"
I hate how he throws words like that around. His best words make me think the worst thoughts. I can believe that he likes me, that he wants me, but ever since he's been saying that he loves me, that he loves me back, that he loves me more, I've been wondering why and how and since when and how long will it last.
"I understand the part where you're silly and stupid and really attracted to me."
"Yeah, that's it," he says, shaking his head. "All of this, all of it is because I want to fuck someone famous."
"I didn't say that." I didn't say it right now, but I won't deny having asked a few times.
"What about you? Do you think I don't wonder whether or not you're with me because I'm all you've got? That you'll be gone the minute you find a job, when you get back to your life?"
"Oh, so you're all I've got."
"That's what I hear from you all the time."
"That's not what those words mean," I snap. "I tell you you're everything, and you are. What? Do you think I'm using you to feel better? Or that you're a distraction from everything else?"
"Thanks for saying it out loud, now I'll actually be able hear you..."
"Stop it," I cry. "I am desperately in love with you."
"Or you depend on me—"
"Who have you been talking to? I don't depend on you. I haven't allowed myself to fall asleep a single night without reminding myself that this could disappear any second, that I need to be able to get back on my feet immediately, and Edward, I know I'll be fine. I don't depend on you for anything."
"I do."
I shake my head and roll my eyes. "No you don't. You have your life. You work, you study, you hang out with your buddies. Sometimes you forget to call, and sometimes I annoy you so much that you tell me to fuck off."
"I've never done that," he says.
"Yeah, with your eyes. You look at me like... like if I don't shut up that second, you're going to strangle me or something."
I stand up and start trying to take off the dress. He's right behind me, helping me. And when I'm almost naked in front of the mirror, his pants drop down, and his fingers are pulling at cotton, trying to make me completely naked. Then they change their mind, and start touching me instead.
"Don't try walking back to the bed like that," I warn him. "You'll trip."
"Your mom's downstairs, the bed's too loud."
I'm pushed against the mirror, my nose touching the glass. My eyes are wild, and they make me wetter, more perfect. Just my eyes, looking like that, because he's behind me, inside me, his fingers on me. I'm small, he's strong, and if he decides not to let me, I'm trapped—my hands flat against the glass, held there by one of his hands. It's not fair. Two of mine together are barely any larger than just his left hand. Or maybe they're not, and I'm just letting him control me, pretending that I can't free them, that I can't move them.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck..."
"Shhh."
I hated being shushed, but I want to do what he wants me to do. Besides, I'm breathing hard and he likes the sounds I'm making, and my breath is fogging up the glass for a second, but over and over again, and I'm shaking, trying to focus on this orgasm. And then he's slowing down because he wants to keep going, but all I want is one thing when I turn around.
"You can look down, or watch in the mirror," I tell him.
"Shit."
I want to kiss and lick it, and be so playful and then dirty, but this isn't the time for playful and fun and sweet, because just a second ago he was desperate inside of me. I hate this carpet, and I hate that I have to let go and reach down to scratch my knee right now. It hits me that this is the first time I've done this to Edward since the night we met. I wonder if he wonders why. I bet it's not something he's pondering right now. His mind is mush now. Leaning against the mirror with his forearms, like he's going to collapse. I think he's about to bang his head against it over and over, because he's so gone, and it makes me giggle. But he's serious. The way he's moving. It's serious. I let him move like that until he comes back from that place I sent him to, and when he's back, he's all mine. In my bed. Smiling at me. Smiling to himself. A kid again. Then when he speaks, a man.
"I'm tired. Let's take a nap. Then we can start looking for a place."
"You're not moving out," I insist.
"Her behavior is unacceptable, and I'm sure I can find something relatively inexpensive close by."
"If you do this for me, she'll never forgive me. Things will never..."
But it's not like things were going to get better anytime soon. His silence confirms what I'm thinking, and I can't deny the satisfaction I'm feeling as a result of his decision to move out. I whisper and tell him I'm so, so happy. I promise to help him look for places and furniture. I promise him that he'll be happier this way, and that Bree will have a quiet place to study, and maybe Carlisle can store the boxes sitting in the garage that Esme wants him to get rid of in Edward's garage, or if it's a smaller space, maybe not. Whatever he wants. Anything he wants.
"You know you're going to be making these decisions," he says, yawning and uninterested.
"I'll help, but it's your place."
"And yours."
"No, it's not like that. I live here."
Edward takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.
"You're right," he concedes. "I'm the one moving out. I need my own place."
"You don't sound convinced. It makes me want to tell you to stay put."
"You don't want that."
"I didn't—"
"Don't, Bella," he says. "I know you. You're not spending any more nights at my parents' house."
"I'm not, but I'm also not giving you any ultimatums. You're more than welcome to stay here when you want to spend the night with me. It's not about what I want."
"It is."
"I don't want it to be like that." I don't want you to think that it's like that.
"Compromise?" he asks.
"On what?"
He pushes me away. Just a little bit. So slight that you wouldn't notice it if you weren't always aware and alert and waiting.
"I understand that you don't feel comfortable staying there anymore, but they're my family. I need you to be able to spend time with them, spend time at the house. Holidays, birthdays, the occasional dinner. That means making an effort to ignore her, and I know you don't want to do that, but I don't want to have to choose between my family and my girlfriend. And telling me I can live there or attend functions alone is not an option. I'll leave and find my own place. I'll be making a stand when I do, but I know that my mother will ultimately forgive me, and act like it had nothing to do with you."
"Oh?"
"She's not going to ban us from the house, she's too smart to try anything like that," he explains.
"If she doesn't overreact and wants us over, I'll go. For you. I'll accept that fake, disgusting apology. But not because you're moving out for me. I think..."
"We don't have to say every little thing we think out loud all the time. Relax. I made my decision."
"What if she continues to disrespect me?" I ask.
"That's different. She can't do that. And she won't."
"You say that..."
"Trust me."
I nod.
I'm proud of him, and I know he won't let me down. I sit a little taller now, but I hate that I needed him to make this better, to fix the thing that broke inside me when I heard her laugh and saw the embarrassment on his sister's face, the way his father cringed and left the room a few seconds later. I wasn't able to say anything or do anything, and my hand squeezed Edward's thigh when he started to speak, asking him to stop. I sat there quietly until he said he was hungry and felt like eating diner food. I cried in the car and refused to say anything until he started his impatient finger tapping on the steering wheel.
I grab and twist his fingers now, and it hurts and he looks annoyed.
We hear the front door open downstairs, and Mom calls out to Dad, who's cheerful and loud today. I grab the sundress I had been wearing earlier, and he pulls up his pants.
"Come on, let's go downstairs and ask him about apartments."
"Houses," Edward corrects me.
"Expensive."
"Nah, we'll see. It could take a while, especially if I want to stay in town."
"Craigslist?"
"No, baby." He laughs. "I don't think your search would come up with anything. I know who to call. Don't worry."
"Fine, let me put away this dress. I'll be right down."
"I'll wait for you."
"I know it's still a few weeks away, but I'm excited," I tell him. "I'm leaving my hair down, I think."
He smiles and listens.
"I'm wearing the black dress I showed you to the rehearsal dinner, and the navy dress to the brunch, and the short—"
"Rehearsal dinner?" he asks.
"Yeah they've invited the out-of-town guests. Jasper and Irina will be there, too. Jack and I were really close. Jasper was supposed to be a groomsman, but he's Jasper, so he gets to decline for some silly reason and no one gets upset."
"Aren't these people too young to be getting married?"
I shrug. "They've been together forever."
"You know she's gonna hate you when you show up in that dress. Emmett's date showed up at our cousin's wedding in a white dress, and Carmen was pissed." He does this little whistle thing, like, wow, and shakes his head at the memory.
"Well, white's just tacky, and my dress isn't white. Believe me, she won't even notice what anyone else is wearing. It's her wedding! And you'll see her dress. It will be huge, and crazy, with a long train. And she'll have a veil. No one will mistake me for the bride. Besides, she's a redhead."
"Slow down, look at how pink your cheeks are. Someone's excited. Are you going to wear a big, crazy dress with a long train when you get married?" he teases.
I nod.
"You're blushing."
"Stop talking about my wedding. I'll think of you, waiting for me at... Wow, this is where I scare you off."
He chuckles, shaking his head side to side again.
"It's going to be so much fun teasing you all weekend," he says.
"Shut up. You totally pictured me as a bride today, and you liked it."
"You'd be a hot bride."
"Beautiful," I correct him.
"Beautiful." He laughs, and I scratch his arm until he apologizes.
"Say something nice before I freak out."
"Like what?"
"Something nice about me," I sigh.
"Okay, let me think."
I roll my eyes and begin to drag him out of my room. At the top of the stairs, he stops, and I stop.
"I pictured you with your hair up. I'd want to be able to see your neck, your face, without you hiding behind all of that hair. But not at someone else's wedding. It wouldn't be fair."
"You didn't picture anything," I tell him, but my knees... and my heart... "You're making that up."
"So what if I am? It's still true."
I throw myself at him so hard and fast that we almost fall down the stairs.
Thanks for reading. I've been a little blah lately, hence the delay. Let me know your thoughts on Edward this chapter - I love hearing from you so much.
mwah mwah