Blister in the Sun Part 9
Note: I'm sorry I suck so hardcore. I've moved back home now where it isn't spring break every single day and I'm not hungover ninety percent of the time. I hope you all still like me...or at least my words. I'm a little rusty and it probably sucks, but only one more chapter after this.
Warnings: Unbeta'ed. So much unbeta'ed-ness. I'm a little rusty there too.
I don't understand him sometimes. This boy I grew up with. I would have thought I'd know him like the back of my hand. Apparently, I don't. Then again, I don't know the back of my hand as well as the saying insinuates. Should someone ask me to describe it, I don't think I could. Just like how sometimes he manages to surprise me with the thoughts filtering through his brain and the actions he takes so naturally.
Like today at the beach. I shouldn't say it like that. We're always at the beach. Because it's like we've got nothing better to do than play in the sand and salt all day until we're brown and exhausted. But it's who we are. At least for now. September is just around the corner, and all this sun and cool, cool water will be a distant memory.
He's drawing pictures in the sand. Not really pictures. More like swirls. Nondescript round and rounds as those green, green eyes stare out into blue. Like he's thinking about everything and nothing all at that same time. When I flick a tiny piece of beach at him, he doesn't react. Not until I've cupped as much of the shore in my palms as I can and smear it into the sweat on his arm, his chest, his back. He rears away like it's scorching hot, growling his displeasure at me. Though I can see in his eyes just how much he likes having my hands on him.
"Dude," he says.
"Dude," I say back.
And before he can retaliate—because I know exactly what that round-and-round hand of his is doing collecting all that sand like that—I jump to my feet and sprint toward the waves making their own pictures on the shore. My toes sinking into soft and the cresting water lapping at my ankles make it hard to run into the ocean, but I've had practice. My whole life actually. But so has he. And he's faster. So when he reaches around my waist, wrapping me in his arms, just briefly where I can feel the sun radiate off his skin and his lips press a tiny kiss to my shoulder, I'm not surprised when I'm thrown into the water, splashing ripples around us.
He dives in, his feet waving goodbye, before I can fight back. Not that I want to. He seems happy. Like really happy. Not Alice happy. Or lust happy. Or alcohol happy. But that sort of joy you get from the little things. A sunset that perfect color of orange. The ocean so calm like glass. The breeze gently kissing your blistered skin. If I could snapshot this moment and archive it in my memory so that I'd never forget it, I would. I like seeing him like this. With that gentle tilt of his lips.
When he pops back up he smiles at nothing, floating on his back, staring at the rolling clouds in the sky sauntering by. The air is humid with maybe-rain, but that's never stopped us before. We're out far enough that one of the few summer parties left is just an echo behind us. Enough to where I can pretend it's just him and I and the ocean with nothing to bother us or this simple delight, so I join him, floating alongside, our fingertips just barely brushing as the waves bring us up and down in their passing.
"Bell…" I can barely hear him around the water in my ears, but I do. I think I always will.
"Yeah?"
"Are you excited?"
I know what he's talking about, but I feign ignorance because I'm not ready for this quiet to be disturbed. "For the bonfire? It'll be just like any other."
He laughs. "No. Not that."
"You mean you brought marshmallows? Because if you did, you know I'll love you forever." I don't mean to say it. Not that I haven't said those amorous words to him. Because I have. And he's said them to me too once upon a time. But not like this. Not with them meaning what they do now. And already I can feel that damper in the mood.
He licks his lips like he's thinking about how to avoid the awkward, but the slight hook in his fingers as they brush against mine at the last sloping wave says the exact opposite. "I mean for college."
"Oh that." I shrug my shoulders even though he can't see. "I guess. I don't really know what to think about it yet. It has hasn't really hit that I'm going, you know?"
I imagine he shrugs his shoulders because he doesn't respond. I understand him at least that much. Or perhaps we're just that much alike. "It's just around the corner. A few weeks away."
"I guess it'll all come crashing down just before then. It'll be all the snot and tears in one night."
"It won't be so bad."
"What? The snot and tears? Or college?"
"College."
He seems thoughtful again. Almost sad. And I can't pinpoint exactly why so I ask instead, "Are you?"
He doesn't answer. He doesn't want to answer. He floats with his fingers hooked so that the waves have to fight to separate us while I wait for a reply that'll never come, and before I can push him into telling me his thoughts, there's a shout from the shore. Our names bouncing across the water. Yelling for us to join in the festivities. And for a moment I see in his eyes the need to ignore them, to carry on in our own solitude, before that anything-but-simple happy returns. He grabs my hand, pulling my body toward our friends.
Emmett pulls him away, telling tall tales of Red Bull and shotguns and orange-flavored vodka all in one. So I go to the cooler, hoping for something to dull the uneasiness settling in me. Jasper finds me there, his eyes downcast, as he shuffles back and forth on his feet.
"Hey, Bella."
"What's up?" He's silent and that's when I look at him. Like really looking at him and seeing the red in his eyes, the salt on his cheeks, the agony across each frown line. "Jasper?"
"She broke it off."
"Who?" I ask, even though I know who, because I'm hoping what he's about to say isn't true. More for my selfishness than his wellbeing.
"Alice."
I grab his hand. He's a boy. And he won't cry. But can I can see the breakdown in his eyes. "What did she say?"
He shakes his head like he's screaming, "No."
That uneasiness crawls across my skin stronger than before. I don't want to know, but I have to. I need to hear it. "Tell me."
"She wants another chance."
"You're sure?" And I hate myself at how horribly un-empathetic I sound.
"She broke my heart good."
I see her then. With that wicked smile across her face. Shaking her hips as she walks toward my boy. He got suckered into shotgunning Red Bull laced with Stoli, and when he straightens, his face wet with alcohol, all he sees is her and her tiny, tiny swimsuit and her beckoning eyes and that little pout he used to say turned him into a wilting mess. He tenses, afraid of her words and actions, but the lone finger she traces down his chest vocalizes it all that I don't even need to hear her say, "Can we talk, Edward?"
He allows her to pull him away from the group, and down the beach, but not far enough to disappear into their own little world, his heels digging into the sand as his one last hesitation. My body turns along with Jasper's. We don't hide that we're watching, waiting, wondering how our hearts would leave this party.
"I miss you, Edward."
"Alice…"
"I made a mistake."
He shakes his head, staring at her feet.
"I still love you."
"Really?"
"I think about you every day."
"What about Jasper?"
They don't mean to. It's like a trigger. You say someone's name and your automatic reaction is to seek that person out. Even if for a second. But when their gaze flickers to Jasper and I, he panics. I feel it in the way his fingers grab my arms. I see it, the turmoil in his eyes. I taste it in his lips bruising against mine. I want him to have his retribution but not at the cost of whatever little I have with my boy, so I fight with myself. To push him away. To pull him closer. The tears I feel on my cheeks make up my mind. So I rest my hands on his shoulder as his lips tremble in their attempt to hold everything in.
So many things happen at once. So many swirls and round and rounds and words being thrown that it's hard to keep track of it all. I'm yanked away from Jasper, and at first I think it's my boy, that he's finally claiming me as his own and heart leaps because that's how excited and nervous I am, but then I see it's Jake. And he's laughing but his eyes are angry. And though his voice carries mirth, his words bite back so hard.
"Jasper too, Bella? I thought you were fucking Edward."
The crowd I like to pretend isn't there, bursts into conversation just as the sky opens up and you can't tell if it's Jasper's tears, my tears, or the sprinkle of rain falling down my cheeks.
"I always knew there was something going on between those two."
"Bella and Jasper?"
"Bella and Edward."
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. It all seems so wrong to have that little secret of ours blown up like this. Like something special thrown to the wind for everyone to tear apart.
I want to run, but it's like the horde is pushing in. There's so many questions being thrown at me that I'm not too sure who's asking what, but it's like our friends want this one last bit of gossip to carry them over until the end of the summer. They love this sort of drama. This he and she and he excitement. But I don't want to share. Not this. Not what little I have of him. Maybe this is my own sort of punishment. Being at the center of so many people's attentions. Because I did the unthinkable. I fell in love with my best friend.
And when I feel like giving up, wanting to suffer for my own stupidity, he's there. My boy. Hooking his fingers around my own and pulling me away just as the sprinkle of rain turns into a downpour. Maybe he didn't have to save me. Because everyone scatters from the wet as if they aren't already damp with ocean. But I'm grateful as the shower washes away the curiosity from everyone's faces and at my boy's insistence that we climb into his car for shelter.
"Are you okay," he asks me.
I nod because I kind of am and kind of not, and I don't know how to put that into words.
"That was intense, right?" He smirks, but it's only half-hearted. And I'm not sure if he means the sudden downpour of rain or our not-so-secret secret outed as it was.
So I just say, "Yeah."
He's quiet. For only a second. Because before anything else, he's my best friend, and I can tell his heart is in turmoil. A little bit of it is probably my kiss with Jasper. Or maybe that's just hopeful thinking because I already know what's going to come out of his mouth. "Alice asked me for a second chance."
"I know."
"Jasper?"
"Yeah."
"I don't know what to do."
I ignore how my heart wants to stop beating because maybe it's better if I didn't hear him admit his forever-love with a girl that isn't me. "Do you want to? Give it another go with her that is?"
He doesn't answer at first, and when he does, it's not a reply to my question. Like where did that come? How did his mind get there? "I'm not going to college."
"Wait…what?"
"I'm staying here."
"I thought you got into that school in Texas."
"I turned them down."
I don't want to put my worry into words but I ask, "Why?"
"Alice was a junior. She has one more year. I thought I'd wait for her."
And then it all makes sense. When I leave, he's staying, but so is she. This is starting to feel like the end.
He grabs my shaking hand, squeezing it in his harder and harder until I look at him. And there's that face again. Like he's thinking about everything and nothing all at the same time. "One day and one day soon, my best friend is going to leave me behind."
He let's me do it. When I lean in. Slow. So slow you can count our breaths. One. Two. Three. Before my lips touch his. Or his lips touch mine. At that point, I'm not too sure who finally gives in. But it's a gentle press. So sweet and soft and wispy as we share miniscule sighs and fluttering eyelashes and tiny caresses on that sensitive part of our neck and bare shoulders and trembling fingers interlocking together.
Until it's not. Until we're a mesh of teeth and tongue and needy hands as he grabs my hair and pulls my head to the side so that his lips can attack my outstretched neck, mumbling words I can't understand against my skin, making promises I don't want to hear because I know they'll only be broken. He pulls me into his seat, and I don't even care who can see when he sweeps aside my swimsuit and then his, so he can slide into my wet. It's a welcome distraction from his turmoil and my uneasiness as pleasure overtakes all of our senses. I'm sure the car is groaning just as loud as we are with our gyrating hips and powerful thrusts. I'm not sure if I'm blushing at just how loud we are or at just how close I am to falling.
"Come on, Bell," he says. "Let me see you. Let me see you fall. Let me hear you. Let me hear how good I make you feel."
"Eddie…"
"You ride me so good, Bell. Always so beautiful. So fucking sexy. Clenching so tight. I love feeling you come on my cock. Faster, Bell. Harder, Bell. Take it. Just fucking take it already. How am I going to live without this?" And then he's close because his words become just one. Over and over. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."
We finish like we started. Our lips reluctant to part. So soft against each other. Unspoken words to hard to say aloud. And that's when I know it. This isn't the start of the end. It is the end.