Cupid's Bow
Chapter 18
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Our journey has slowed.
Walking through the endless streams of greenery, as I've grown accustomed to now, maybe it should be impossible to tell the speed of our steps, as continuous as the land is. At first, I only notice it because I'm the one doing it.
Every time a new colour pops up through the emerald, I point at each flower and ask what they're called (on Earth, you'd be lucky if you saw a buttercup peeking up through the cracks in the pavement), and Edward answers readily at each turn; tulips, roses, daffodils, forget-me-nots, geraniums, crocuses, carnations… the colours and shapes and sizes are endless. As he lists, I find myself looking forward to seeing more with every step, frequently stopping to stroke the soft petals, and, at Edward's prompting, smell them.
And then I become aware of Edward's tactics, mainly, his pace slows down. A lot.
Night falls three more times.
Logic tells me to stop delaying. My mind asks me why I am.
My heart beats quietly in reply, and in the night-time hours, staring up at the star-studded sky, it stutters over memories of my life, before.
Most of the time, I remember being alone.
And I fall asleep to aches in my chest, which run into my feet during the daytime, slowing me down.
OoOoOo
OoOoOoOo
OoOoOo
We stop to drink and eat (and bathe, in Edward's case, though I settle for the decidedly safer option – in more way than one – of bringing the water to me, instead of going into it) multiple times throughout a single day. In terms of food, despite me telling Edward the round-pink weren't bad, just that I ate too many, he doesn't bring me anymore of those. Instead, I found myself awash in an overwhelming splurge of yellows and oranges, purples and reds. Everything we eat is so… vivid, and tasty, that it makes it hard not to eat lots. The thought of being sick again soon slows me down though.
Today, I stare eagerly at Edward's cupped hands as he drops down in front of me. Without monitoring, I feel hungrier than ever. Or I guess I'd always had pains in my stomach before, it's just that I was used to them going unfulfilled.
Down here, I definitely don't have that problem.
Edward's hands are piled high with oranges and reds. Carefully, he lowers his hands to the soft and relinquishes the food. Peeking up through his hair at me, he holds up one of the shiny red pieces.
"Apple," he says slowly.
"Apple," I mimic.
Smiling, he hands the "apple" to me, which I accept all too eagerly. We'd incorporated this into our daily routine. It had started with the flowers, but had branched out to pretty much everything else. I wanted to know because I was so used to not knowing, and thankfully, Edward didn't seem to mind humouring me.
I take a bite, and a delighted squeak escapes me as my mouth is immediately filled with fresh and crisp and sweet.
Edward's smile turns into a grin, and I feel my cheeks heat up in embarrassment. "Sorry," I mutter, dropping my eyes and swallowing.
He just shakes his head at me in reply, reaching a hand out and thumbing away some of the juice that had spilled from the apple onto my chin. I just burn hotter.
His touches, I still hadn't grown used to those.
Keeping my eyes away from his, I pick up one of the round orange pieces and hold it in my palm. It feels… squidgy. Kind of… strange.
"Orange," Edward supplies from above and I nod absently… and then the name registers.
I peek up at him curiously. "Orange?"
He nods.
So, shrugging, I lift the soft feeling orange to my mouth and am about to take a bite when –
"No!"
I jump, startled, my head snapping up in surprise at Edward's exclamation.
Seeing my widened eyes, his own soften. "Sorry," he repeats one of my often uttered phrases, shuffling a little closer. Watching me, he slowly reaches out, leaving the orange laying in my palm as he slices its skin… pulling it away to reveal about ten separate segments inside.
"No eat," he explains, holding the peel in his palm.
"Oh," I reply sheepishly. "Sorry."
He just smiles.
I slowly pull an orange slice away from the rest, periodically darting my eyes up to Edward's, making sure I can at least do this right. I let it rest against my bottom lip for a minute before opening my mouth. I put half of the segment in and then let my teeth cut through its soft skin.
Some of the juice erupts in my mouth, and it's sweet and tangy. I get to enjoy that for about half a second before I realise that the rest of the juice has just gone –
Everywhere.
I squeak indignantly as the orange splits in half and runs its juice down my hand, saturating my palm and sliding down my wrist. It spills out from my lips, cold chasing cold as it rolls down my chin and neck, slipping onto my chest unapologetically.
Gaping, I look down, realising that in my mini explosion I'd accidentally tightened my hand around the rest of the orange sitting in my palm, so now my whole left hand is dripping, too.
Slowly, I lift my head, meeting Edward's gaze dumbly; my mouth still hanging open.
Silence for a minute, and Edward's eyes are wide.
And then –
Then they're not. Then they're all crinkled up because he's laughing, really, properly laughing.
It's not hard to guess at what.
I huff as I watch him throw his head back, his lips stretched wide and his shoulders shaking as he releases his humour into the airwaves. I try to frown, try to remain stern and annoyed at his laughter at my expense, but I can't do it, I just can't.
The corners of my lips tip up.
I duck my head down to hide my smile, hearing his, and watch the now sad looking orange leak its juices between my fingertips onto the soft below. A giggle springs forth before I can stop it – at the situation, myself… and because Edward's happiness is catching.
"Bel-la," Edward chokes out between giggles, his finger tipping my juice-covered chin up. His eyes are bright and shiny with humour.
I bite my lip, because the smile on my face is so big it's painful. "I don't think oranges are for me, huh?" In example, I lift my dripping hand, turning my head to wipe my wet chin on my shoulder.
All too late I realise that was a bad idea, because this juice? It's sticky.
"Ick." My nose wrinkles as I flex the hand not holding the orange, feeling my fingers gloop together unpleasantly.
Still lightly chuckling, Edward relieves me of the orange, taking it from my hand and placing it beside him. He picks up both of my hands then – sticky gloopy mess and all – and grins at me.
"Sticky," I say needlessly, nose still wrinkling. My eyes drift over to one of the pools. "I think I need to – "
My words break off with a gasp.
I turn my head back round so quickly I'm pretty sure I get whiplash.
Edward has my fingers in his mouth.
In. His. Mouth.
I gape.
I feel his tongue swirl around my fingertips as he gently sucks, licking away the residual juice on my skin. My face burns as I watch him, my stomach doing weird little tickly flips – not for the first time since being here – at the strangely… pleasant sensation.
Then he hums, and everything in me just vibrates.
"Edward," I gasp, unwittingly, and his eyes flick to mine, his cheeks lifting and his gaze crinkling. His tongue makes one last swipe before he releases me… only to go onto my other hand.
My arm jerks as I watch his lips close around me again, not knowing whether I'm trying to pull away or if just the feeling of it makes me jolt. Probably both. Not that it matters anyway, because his hand encloses around my wrist, gently keeping me in place.
He hums again, like he likes the taste, and his eyes flutter closed.
I make a noise in the back of my throat, and I almost swallow my tongue.
When he's satisfied, he slowly pulls back, eyes re-opening with his smile. I just stare at him dumbly, kind of stuck in place. At moments like these, it's never clearer that we're from two different worlds, with two vastly different operating systems and social norms.
"Um," I squeak, when he carries on looking at me. "Thank you?"
He blinks at me, then looks down at my hands again, eyes running up and down my arms. I peer down, too; I look trembly.
I feel it when he lifts my arm again, and places his mouth on my wrist.
I grapple for sanity when he drags his lips down towards my elbow, sucking sticky-juice up as he goes. I feel hot and breathless and my heart is pounding and I can't stop looking at his mouth on my skin; his so-red lips.
My mouth floods with saliva when he pulls away again, his gaze on my chin, then my neck, then my…
He starts to lean forward.
More than a little aware of his destination, and intent, I quickly pull my shaky legs out from under me and stand, spinning away.
I leave him, startled, on the soft.
I stand at the edge of a pool, flushed… with the realisation a part of me didn't want him to stop.
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A/N: Et tu, Bel-la? Sorry this is late. Again. I give up on me. I thank you for not doing the same.