Fantasy
Two weeks later, Edward stood in the spray from his shower, eyes closed as the hot water ran down his back, as he leaned against the tile, forehead resting against his forearm. He'd been avoiding her, as she was surely avoiding him. Every now and then, his stomach muscles would contract as a new memory would surface. That bead of water, running down between her collar bones. The hint of lace underneath the polo shirt. Wet. Her breasts could just about fill a hand and were set wide apart. A freckle on her upper arm, half covered by the sodden cloth of her polo shirt. As she had gotten out of the pool, there was a hint of darkness beneath her skirt, something that should have been obscure. Wet. A drop of water running down the inside of her calf, across the startling paleness of her skin. Her pelvic bones stretching the material of her skort, a hint of a smooth stomach, as her shirt rode up. Her toenails, painted a phone box red led to delicately formed feet. One jagged pearly white scar running diagonally across her knee. Not blemishes. Adornments.
He remembered the sessions of hide and seek. He remembered how Bella, with her musical accent and large eyes was more than willing to play rough and tumble with him and his brothers. She was the one who could conjure those games of pretend for pirates and thieves, in that big house with so many empty rooms. But when he went to nursery, she disappeared from his life and over the years he forgot her. When she returned, he was a nervous boy on the cusp of puberty, so desperate to fit in and be liked. At first, he was glad to see a familiar face. But then that familiarity turned to dread as he realised that in a place like the Academy, she was supposed to be beneath him. So he shunned her, earning her resentment and hostility within that first year. After that, Bella dropped out of his radar and he eventually forgot her again, until this week.
This was when Edward had his second revelation.
Bella was not just a person.
She'd grown.
He'd have to talk to her at some point. Explain his behaviour, why he'd done what he done. He shook his head, spraying water from his hair and groaned. He didn't know why he said the things he said. In truth he hadn't meant them at all. And the physical aggression…he'd never done that before. His mother had always inlayed the strict rules that a boy should never hit or harm a girl. But this burst of violence from him shook him. He didn't know where his control had gone.
She'd taken it with her.
There was an innocence in her attempt to remain dignified in an utterly undignified manner; sticking out her chin like a petulant child. Yet he loved her righteous fury glittering in those eyes, the outrage at him for his accidental humiliation of her. But in return, she had already humiliated him through the presentation earlier that week. She was not a passive creature, she was not totally sweet. She was a force, with the ability to push him under. Perhaps, perhaps she wanted more in her anger. Perhaps she wanted to show that glittering side of her, that would bind him to her while also punishing him by pushing him away: for accidently causing her to fall into that damned pool.
He growled in frustration and shut the shower off, stepping out and towelling himself down.
Yes, he needed to talk to her. Pulling on a pair of tracksuit bottoms and an old concert t-shirt, he sat down at his desk, using his towel to rub at his hair, before letting it drop to the floor.
Should he send an email?
No, too impersonal.
And he was too much of a coward to do it in person.
Handwritten letter maybe?
Taking a few sheets of clear A4 and a fountain pen he stared blankly at the sheets, wondering what to start with.
Swan
No, too formal.
Paper scrunched up and chucked into the bin.
Isabella
Still too formal.
Another scrunched up sheet.
Bella
Better.
I must apologise for the way I acted last time we spoke. In truth, I did not mean any of the things I said or did. I have never acted in such a way before – must be the upcoming exams!
Such a flimsy excuse.
Another sheet of paper gone.
He leaned back in his chair and glared at the paper. He played around with phrases and words but they were either too silly or too formal, too jokey or too careless. Several drafts later, with much swearing and crumpled sheets, he still hadn't created the message he wanted. His fist curled and then spasmed out again and his teeth gnawed on his bottom lip. He glanced up at Eva Green, posing as she was next to a vanity in lingerie, a smoky look in her gaze that said 'come hither'. He tore his eyes away, his gaze landing on his open biology book, pages opened on a particular part of the female anatomy. The labels and clinical explanations blurred with Eva's provocations and before he could stop himself he leaned forward and wrote:
Bella
In my dreams, I kiss your cunt.
Your sweet wet cunt.
In my thoughts I make love to you all day long.
Edward
He stared at the words with a shocked awe before bursting out into sniggers, laughing at his own frame of mind.
There it was, another draft ruined.
Fucking hell. Edward Cullen was going insane.
It was like it unblocked something in his brain. He folded the paper and set it aside. He took out his final sheet and wrote:
Bella
You'd be forgiven for thinking me insane for the way I acted last time we spoke. In truth, I feel quite lightheaded and foolish in your presence and I don't think I can blame stress. Forgive me.
Edward
There. He smiled in triumph and folded the paper, ready to be put into her pigeonhole the next day. He couldn't give it to her himself, he had to give her a chance to think things through before he might see her.
Things were going to be ok.
The next morning he reluctantly made his way to an early morning lesson so he managed to catch Jessica on her way to breakfast, "Jess, could you put this in Bella's pigeon hole? I've got an EML."
She stared mutely at the paper and nodded, taking the note. Edward smiled gratefully and whisked away towards his history lesson. It was only when he was in the class, listening to Mr Tanner's lecture to Italian Unification did he realise what he'd done. In his mind eye, he saw his desk, the discarded bits of paper, the books, the pens. The letter he'd meant to give to Bella and the one he'd meant not to give to her. He clenched his fist and fought not to bolt out of his seat.
He'd given her the wrong letter.
He'd given her the wrong letter.
He'd really buggered it now.