Playlist: Be Alright by Justin Bieber
Word Prompt: Tepid
Scenario: All's fair in love and war
Chapter 14
"Kid, you okay?" Someone's talking to me. There's a pounding behind my eyes; the pain worsens when I touch my head. "The ambulance is on the way. Don't move." It's a guy, I think.
I groan as I open my eyes, flashbulbs popping before me. Ouch, that hurts. "Where's my phone?"
"Your phone? I don't . . . I . . . don't worry about your phone. I'm sorry I hit you, but what were you doing in the intersection? The light was red. We're both really lucky."
"Huh?"
"You're—you know you've been in an accident, right?"
"Yeah, I wasn't paying attention, but I need my phone. It fell down there." I point.
"I already called for an ambulance." He's confused and doesn't understand I don't care about me, I need to talk to Bella.
I unlatch the seatbelt just as sirens come upon us, and I can't get to my phone because someone's moving my head around and looking into my eyes. "What's your name?"
"Edward," I grumble.
"Okay, Edward, we're gonna get you out of your car and check you out."
"Can someone please get my phone?"
"Our priority is you, Edward."
"Forget it." I reach forward and can't see with all the blood sluicing down my face, but I'm not leaving without my lifeline to Bella.
"Edward!" A man grips my arm before I can reach it. "We need to get you to the hospital."
"That's fine. Someone get my damn phone, and I'll do whatever you ask, okay?"
The guy motions to some other people, and I stay in the car, waiting to see that someone has it in their possession before letting them help me get out of the car.
I'm strapped to a gurney and people are poking and prodding me. I'm hooked up to something, too. Don't know what, even though they're telling me.
"Are you in any pain?" a girl asks, leaning over me once I'm inside the ambulance.
"My head hurts," I say, and she strokes my hair with a smile.
"I'll bet."
"The other driver's okay?"
"He's fine."
"Can I have my phone?"
I hear a moan from somewhere and a, "Not now. Maybe once you're admitted."
"You need to make a phone call?" the girl asks, placing a cold stethoscope on my chest.
"I told my best friend I was in love with her before I got hit. I don't want her to be scared, and I'm kind of anxious to hear what she has to say."
"Aw," she coos and pats my shoulder. "You're the sweetest guy we've had in here all year."
"Thanks . . ."
"Elizabeth," she says, smiling.
-NSID-
When I get to the ER I'm still not allowed to use my phone. Some policy about interference or something. I was half-listening since they were checking me out, cleaning my wound, and asking me questions at the same time. Honestly, I think I'm fine other than the blood pouring from my head.
My nurse, Heidi, tells me the doctor will be in shortly. But no one comes, not for a long while. Bored with no TV and no phone, all I can do is wait and think about Bella. I hope she's all right.
There's a commotion outside my curtained room. I'm not sure where it's coming from, but it becomes more and more entertaining as the conversation unfolds and voices rise.
"Miss, you cannot go back there. You are neither family, nor his wife, so unless you can—"
"I'm going to be someday. Doesn't that count for anything?"
"No, Miss, it doesn't. And by the looks of your ring-free hand and your age, I'm guessing you're not even engaged." The woman's voice is terse.
"Look, I know him. I know everything about him. Ask me a question. Ask anything and then ask him, and if it's right, send me back. I'm not some crazy psycho stalker trying to get into an ER. Who does that? Who would do that?"
"I don't know, Miss, but I'm afraid—"
"No, I'm afraid I'm going to get my bat out of the car and knock someone's head off with it if you don't buzz me in."
I love her.
I smile and laugh as Bella lays into the poor receptionist.
My curtain opens, and in walks Elizabeth. "How are you doing, sweetie?" she asks.
"I feel okay. Shouldn't you be back on the road?"
"I'm heading out now."
"Oh, okay."
"Edward! Edward!" Bella calls for me from behind the thin walls and windows of the hospital.
Elizabeth laughs softly. "Oh, wow, is that her?"
"That's her," I say, grin wide.
"She's here before your parents. Aw. She must love you back."
"You think?"
"Well, if she's making such a stink about seeing you, I'd say so."
"They won't let her in."
"Standard practice."
"I'd see her over my parents if I had to choose. It's not like I'm dying. You said yourself I may only need a few stitches. If I asked for her, would the nurses bring her back?"
"Probably not, sweetie." She pats my arm sympathetically. "I have to go. Good luck, Edward."
A few minutes pass. Bella's quiet, so I guess they got her calmed down or she's getting her bat. I smile at the thought, and then my curtain parts, and a whirl of brown hair enters my room. She's in my old JV Cullen jersey, knee socks, and nothing else I can see. She looks just . . . ugh . . . I want my hands on her. Good thing I'm in a hospital. If I have a heart attack everything will be okay.
She takes me in from head to toe, and her eyes narrow, focusing on the gash above my eyebrow.
"They wouldn't let me call—"
Bella covers her mouth with her finger, shushing me and pointing wildly at the curtain. So she snuck in, I guess.
She walks slowly to the head of the bed, keeping eye contact with me. "Are you okay?" she asks, voice quiet.
"Yeah, are you?"
Bella shakes her head, eyes closed, and a few tears slip down her cheeks. I reach for her hand and lace my fingers with hers. Her eyes open, though she blinks furiously, getting rid of the wetness there. She's always hated crying.
"Don't cry," I say, giving her hand a shake and smiling softly.
"I can't help it," she whispers, leaning over me, stroking my brow carefully.
I close my eyes and enjoy the feel of her hand on me. She runs it down my cheek and, to my surprise, kisses me. It's soft and sensual at the same time, making me want to pull her down into this bed so I can really kiss her properly.
She leaves me dazed, lips puckered, needing more when she pulls away and sits beside me.
I want to ask her why she's kissing me. I don't want to ruin anything, so I don't mention it. Instead, I ask, "How did you get in here?"
"Some lady let me in. Said you were sweet," she whispers.
"Am I?" I don't feel that way, not with everything I've put her through.
"The sweetest," she says, voice still a whisper, then adds, "but you're kind of clueless. I can't get myself to care about that. You don't know how hard it is to stay away from you, to be angry with you. I know I act tough, but I'm not. Not when it comes to you." She wipes her eyes, proving her point.
My mom and Heidi bustle in, opening the curtain wide. Bella shrinks in size, curling into herself. She is wearing shorts, I see; they're just the tiniest ones known to man.
The nurse takes one look at Bella and our clasped hands and laughs boisterously, shaking her head. "I won't tell anyone," she announces.
"Hi, honey," Mom says, kissing my cheek. "You look okay. He'll be all right, right?"
"Things point that way. Still waiting on Dr. Jenks, but he'll most likely need a few stitches."
"That's not too bad." She turns her attention to me and says, "They told me this was your fault. What were you doing?"
"I was on my phone," I admit.
"I thought you were going to see Bella."
"He was on his way," Bella says, "and we were talking and then . . ." Bella drops her head and begins to bawl.
I have no idea what to do. I've never seen her this way before. Before I can react at all, my mom's around the bed, holding Bella, and they're sobbing into each other's arms. Really? I just need some stitches.
Dr. Jenks interrupts them as he enters the room for the first time. I only know who he is because of his nametag. "Hi, Edward. How are you feeling?"
"Fine," I say, "but they may need some Valium or something."
"Is this Mom? Hi. Dr. Jenks. I'll be helping out your son today." Dr. Jenks and my mom shake hands. He comes over to my bedside and leans over me, pressing his now-gloved fingers to my wound. It's tender but not too painful. I just have a headache. "I think we can actually get away without stitches. Heidi?" he says, motioning for the nurse.
She opens and closes some drawers and hands over some medical items.
He smoothes on some ointment and presses the skin together. "You might feel a pinch, but it's better than a needle in your forehead, right?"
"Yeah," I say lamely.
"Mom, we're just putting some surgical glue in here to keep the wound closed so it can heal. He should be fine as long as he doesn't do anything crazy. And the nice thing with the glue is smaller scars. You probably won't even notice it, which will keep your boyfriend looking handsome," he says, his eyes on Bella.
"Um—," she starts.
"Don't worry about Vicky," he says, referring to the receptionist. "She's obsessed with the rules. We know you're not crazy. At least, we hope you're not." He chuckles at his own joke. Bella smiles uncomfortably. What can she say to that?
"Okay, Heidi, you get the proper paperwork, and this boy's good to go."
-NSID-
An hour later, I'm in Bella's car, and we're heading home. Dad showed up after the doctor left, and he and Mom talked for a while in the parking lot. I was getting antsy, so Bella offered to take me home.
I wipe my hands nervously on my jeans. They're spotted with blood, and my shirt's crusted over on the right side. Pretty gruesome.
A song with a boppy beat and blaring lyrics comes on the car stereo. Bella grimaces, quickly turning it down. "I'm sorry. How's your head?"
"It's fine. Drugs kicked in. I don't think I'd feel a thing if someone ran me over right now."
She shakes her head and glances at me, her mouth a thin line.
We drive home in silence. I'm terrified to talk to her, but my stomach clenches with the tension between us. I have so many questions: does she forgive me? What does she think about the fact that I love her? Will she be my girlfriend? Will she kiss me again? Will she walk away? What will she do?
I have no idea.
I keep my mouth shut, though. I got this far, and I don't want to screw it up. Not again.
She walks me to the front door, setting her eyes on me like stone. This can't be good.
"What?" I have to ask.
"Do you have your phone?"
"Yeah."
"Can I see it?'
Without thinking I hand it over, and she hurls it across the street, like she's aiming for someone at home plate. It smashes it into the asphalt, splattering its broken pieces everywhere.
"Bella! My phone!"
She gets in my face, standing tall. She's a menace. "Don't you ever call me in your car again! Not at a stoplight, not when you're parked, not ever. Never!" Her eyes are hard, nostrils flared. If I thought she was mad before, I was mistaken. And now, I'm a little scared she's going to hit me.
"Okay." I appease her quickly for my safety. I know she could throw a good punch. I've seen it a few times when guys got out of line or the time our rival team's catcher said she couldn't pitch. She was benched for three games and never once complained.
She stabs my chest with one of her pointer fingers. Ow! "If I so much as hear you turn it on, or hear it chirp, or do anything, I swear I will get my entire team to fire softballs at your head until you get it."
"I'm glad to know you care."
"Yeah, I do."
"Okay," I say, and she echoes the word before I unlock the door and head inside. She's mean when she wants to be. Then again, she's freaked out, and I deserve it.
She follows me into my room where I exchange my dirty shirt for a clean one. I turn to face her on the bed where she sits, arms wrapped around her striped socked legs. "I'm sorry for yelling at you."
"You were scared?" I guess, taking a seat on my bed against the headboard.
Her bottom lip trembles, she swallows, and says quietly, "Terrified."
"I'm sorry."
"You can stop saying that."
"I think I'll probably be saying that to you my whole life."
"Maybe." She lays her head atop her knees and smoothes her hands down her legs, curling her fingers around her toes, holding them. She looks like a little girl, despite the sexy shorts and wearing my jersey, which I can't even wrap my brain around. When did she get it? I thought I threw it out when it stopped fitting. She must have hijacked it. How cool is that?
"Especially since I'll be your husband someday." She rolls her eyes. I wrap my hands around her feet and slide her forward a bit. "I mean, I think I heard that somewhere."
Finally, I get her to crack a smile. "They wouldn't let me in. I was saying anything."
"I'm just teasing you but not about the apologizing part. Truth is, I don't know what I'm doing. You're different."
"Different how?" She plays with her fingers nervously and stares at my plain gray bedspread.
"I can't charm you."
Bella bursts into laughter and throws herself backward, her feet landing in my lap. "I think we need to clear the air," she manages after calming down.
"All right. I'm wicked gross, though. Do you mind if we talk later? I want to shower and Mom's coming home tonight to look after me, so . . ."
"Yeah, yeah, you're right. I'll go home."
Bella gets up and smoothes out her shirt—my shirt.
"Nice outfit," I say as she walks through my doorway.
She tugs on the jersey and shrugs. "It's my favorite," she admits, shyly. I really want to kiss her. Maybe later.
I watch her walk away, her hips swaying as she goes. Definitely later.
-NSID-
After dinner and a long talk with Mom and Dad about phone safety and driving, which is null and void since my phone's destroyed, I climb the fence to visit Bella.
She sits on her porch-swing, Sandy sleeping by her side, her head on Bella's knee.
"Hey." I give Bella a little wave. I'm in pajama pants, my ripped undershirt, and flip flops. My crazy hair curls around the edges of my hat. Basically, I'm a mess, yet for some reason, Bella smiles. It's a brilliant one, too. And it's for me. She hasn't looked at me that way in quite awhile, and it goes straight to my heart.
"You don't look so scary now that you're cleaned up."
"Good. I didn't mean to scare you."
"I know."
I stand awkwardly in front of her, my hands searching for pockets that don't exist.
"You can sit," she says. She lays Sandy on the ground, making room for me.
"How are you feeling? About us? About what I said? I mean, did you hear everything I said? Did you—"
"I heard you, Edward. I heard you."
"Okay." I bend forward, my elbows on my knees. I don't know what else to say. This deep stuff is hard; I wish we could skip it and play catch like we used to when we were kids. I'd break her toy, look apologetic, and ask her if she'd play ball. I'd give her my favorite bat, and then we'd be even. But we're all grown up now, and that doesn't work. At least, I don't think it will.
As if she knows I'm lost in my head and struggling, she puts her hand on my back and starts scratching lightly. Man, it feels good having her touch me.
"Did you mean it?"
I swing my head back, looking her in the eyes. "Yes, of course I meant it. I . . . "
"You sounded so desperate."
I turn fully, my knee pressed against hers. "I was. I am. I want us to be together. I know I'm going to mess up again and again, but I'm willing to try. I want to try. I feel like I have to because . . . like I said . . . I—I love you, Bella."
She shakes her head minutely and pinches her lips, twisting them awkwardly. Her eyes shimmer, but she seems happy. And when she smiles, I know I've said the right thing; I know this will all be okay.
I lean in, going for it completely, and place a chaste kiss on her lips. She sighs against me, but pulls back, saying my name.
"What?"
"There are no more ballparks. None. And I have wanted to kiss you since I was twelve, maybe even ten. So if you ever give me a tepid kiss like that again, I swear I'll—"
She can't finish her threat because my lips are pressed against hers in a firm kiss. She tugs me closer, her hands gripping my shoulders as she pulls me on top of her. With one hand threaded in her hair and my lips engaged with hers, I have one free hand to roam. It knows exactly where to go.
I start with her socked foot, pressing my thumb into her arch and running it up her calf, under her knee, making her shiver until I reach bare skin.
"We should probably talk. There are things I should explain . . ."
"Mmm hmm, later," I manage.
I continue to feel my way up her thigh until I'm hitting those tiny shorts. I grip her leg and yank it, so it's nearly wrapped around my waist.
She mmphs but doesn't stop and slides her hands up my jaw, until she pulls my hat off.
"Not the hat," I whine.
"It's not your favorite," she mumbles, dropping it to the ground and kissing me again. Her body arches into mine, the letters of my own name on her chest, pressing into me. It's so hot.
"No, it's not my favorite." Why are we talking about hats?
"I have your favorite."
"You are my favorite," I say.
She grips my wild hair in both hands and slams her mouth to mine.
I knew Bella was a good ball player, a good student, a good daughter, and a good friend. I didn't think beyond those roles, but as it turns out, she's good at a lot of things. Really good.