Cupid's Bow
Chapter 11
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Before we leave, Edward disappears back through the green for a minute, and I take my chance.
Carefully, I ease my boots off my feet, wincing a little when they stick. The unrelenting material seems to have welded itself to my skin – I guess it's not really a fan of heat.
Well, that makes two of us.
"Oh my god," I whisper-sigh, just in relief.
I lay my boots to the side and let my toes sink into the soft below, jolting slightly at how nice it feels. I wore shoes pretty much constantly back on Earth – only removing them to sleep. But why would I? Our ground was hard and stony, so I'd never felt the need to wander around bare-footed.
I close my eyes and loosen my muscles, just for a tiny, tiny, second.
"Bel-la hurt."
My eyes fly open as a gasp tears its way past my lips, my hand slamming across my heart hard as I stare at the now very present Edward.
"Please make more noise in the future," I whisper, my heart choking my tongue.
Oblivious, all he does is sink down in front of me, leaving me to stare at the top of his bent-down head. His weirdly colourful hair captures the light and soaks the tips, making me blink too quickly.
I jolt when I feel his fingers slide around my ankle, my now bare ankle, and automatically try to pull it back.
But he persists, pulling my foot closer.
"Bel-la hurt," he says again, wincing at the redness on my skin. "Ouch."
"It's fine," I squeak out, slipping my bum back so I can tug my leg away.
Ignoring my efforts (consciously or not, I'm not sure) he suddenly sinks into the water. Unfortunately, he takes my foot with him.
"Hey!" I yelp, a second before my toes touch the surface. "What are you – "
Then my foot is swallowed by the pool and…
…my words tumble themselves out into a gasp.
"Oh," I breathe.
The icy-relief is so immediate, so instantly soothing, that it makes my whole body shudder-shake. I… I don't know how to describe what it feels like, just that it feels so good… so much –
"Better?"
I startle, my gaze jumping to Edward's.
He's watching me… hopefully?
"Um, y-yes," I stammer, feeling the pads of his fingers trail slowly down the arch of my underwater foot. I will the panic away, but that hardly helps – I can feel the rush of my heart pounding underneath every little bit of me.
He smiles in reply; light-tipped dark lashes brushing against his cheekbones, lips uplifted and soft and red.
I swallow. "Thank you."
His eyes crinkle, and I'm too… too, to notice his arm extending, his hand reaching out to grasp my other ankle. I don't pull or kick or tug when his fingers slip around my skin, but let him sink it into the water with my other foot, and him.
My arms start to shake at the intense relief, and that, coupled with the confusing but really very pleasant feeling of his fingers drawing out the pain, makes them just flat out collapse. I slip onto my elbows and it doesn't even hurt.
Boneless, I watch him watch me.
"That feels nice." Tongue loose and honest with feeling. I don't even stutter.
His teeth press into the fresh, full redness of his bottom lip as his eyes sink into mine. Below the surface of the water, his thumbs press firmly into the arches of my feet, mimicking the force of his stare, and my elbows wobble. My breath quickens and my body is soft toffee, barely solidified, when he slowly lifts my right foot out of the cool… and then presses those fresh, fruit-ripened lips against me.
Sensitised and reeling, my mouth opens and for the first time ever in my twenty years I –
I moan.
Long and drawn out and taking all the air out of my lungs.
In reply, his eyes simultaneously intensify and fall. Through my own droopy lids, I watch him come closer. Blood pools under my skin when he slowly lowers my foot back into the water, only to slide his hands up my legs until he's grasping my knees.
Oh my god.
With a low rumble from somewhere deep in his chest, he grips my knees tight before pulling me forward, until my butt is on the very edge of the soft, only just out of the water.
My eyes widen, fear curling in my belly, but I remain curiously stiff as he… as he parts my legs, taking a step forward until he's so close, encased tightly between my thighs, his palms on the soft either side of my waist as he hovers over me.
Trembling, my mouth opens… but nothing comes out.
His green-gold darkens as he looms above me, mere inches away. And it's captivating, his gaze, because just like when he looked at me before, with that unprecedented sincerity, now his eyes hold something equally unheard of.
So unheard of in fact that I can't actually name it.
The stories say that years ago, in The Days That Never Were (only stories because to confirm it would be to make it The Days That Were – and they (meaning The Institution) were inclined to remain rather aloof about the whole thing), everyone, not just those who went off the rail, wandered around unmonitored, unassigned and unholy. Holy was synonymous with order now – the association with something abstract having become obsolete long ago. Yet curiously, the term remained within our lexis (along with others like god and religion). Their past conceptualisations always drifted just beyond my reach, but the fact they remained so firmly embedded had always confounded me. I wondered just how powerful they must have been – before. If they were so unrestrained, what if they'd had just too much… what if it had all turned out wrong?
Suffice to say, I didn't like to think about that. Especially considering these words were still going strong.
Anyway, the point of the matter is that as a result of the insatiability of The Past People, the Earth became uninhabitable. The air burnt, people destructed on whims, and eventually, everything just fell to pieces. According to myth, or reality, depending on the teller, there was a trial to determine the Virtuous from the Ills. From the Virtuous lot, a male and a female from every corner of the world were chosen and then deployed to Earth 2 (just Earth following the belief of The Days That Never Were). The Ills, well… they were left behind.
But the Virtuous brought their stories, their precious, shocking words with them. Because despite not being Ills, they had lived in that world, and they had seen and heard it all; all of that evil, all of that ill.
What happened? As far as I had heard – The Institution had locked everything away. Or thrown it away. Or hidden it. It was the same basic tale repeated over and over, but there were always differences – ones that'd probably make even the most believing sceptical.
So right now, looking up at Edward, I can't name his gaze – because I've never seen it before.
Because maybe, if the stories are to be believed… it's something ill.
Panic turns me inside out. It isn't just wayward gossip making me uneasy now, but the actual realisation that he's doing something different – not just touch, which is something known, if disapproved of – but his undefinable gaze that could be insatiability.
My insides flood with blood, yanking my hands up and push push pushing. It barely moves him any, but he must understand my intent because he lifts a hand and secures my wrists against his chest, stopping the motion. Dropping down slightly, his eyes loom closer to mine, colours splashing – not making any sense.
"Get off of me," I breathe harshly, my heart thundering, my eyes threatening to water. My mind is replaying moments in Hush on a loop, filling my ears with sound and stories of greed, of wanting, of too much and destruction.
Oh god, I think, for the hundredth time in two days – even though I don't really know what it means.
"Get off!" And tears do spill over this time, leaking down out of the corners of my eyes and landing in the soft below.
He blinks down at me – gaze leaving mine as he follows their watery path. Relief fills me momentarily as his incongruous eyes release mine, but his glance is back before I can blink. And my vision is too blurry to see the change.
He whines lowly, his hand releasing my wrists to rest on the other side of me again. My hands curl in on themselves as I try to push against his chest once more – too intermittent with trembles to hold their own.
His body presses against mine, but I don't feel any of his weight. My chest heaves up and down with too-hurried breaths that hurt when I feel his nose touch my neck. I wait for him to inhale, will the wobble out of my limbs that stems from the shaking in my mind. But none of these things happen.
Instead he –
He turns his head, and –
No hesitation, presses his mouth against my temple; soaking up tear-tracks with his lips.
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A/N: I'm feeling a bit "meh" about this chapter, so I hope you guys enjoyed it! Also: this story may get longer than 12 or 13 chapters. I may have fibbed a little. Oops.