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Stripped Desire – Chapter 5: Shadow
"The deepest feeling always shows itself in silence; not in silence, but restraint."
Marianne Moore.~
On the train back to my place, my mind is in as much of a mess as it was in Edward's house.
He insisted on walking me home, but I refused. I don't think I was coherent enough to be with him.
I needed space.
We compromised that he'd walk me back to the station. It was the longest, most sexually charged walk of my life. We were both too aware of the fact that I had laid naked for him just minutes before.
He didn't make a sound the entire time. He walked with his hands in his pockets. Still, I noticed the tightness around his eyes. He looked as though he was holding something back.
I didn't ask.
Once in my place, I take a shower and prepare my dinner before sitting at my desk for a conversation with my mother.
She won't be able to call on Sunday afternoon, so we moved our phone call to Friday evening.
"Michael has been asking about you," she says as soon as we finish our greetings.
"Has he?" I ask, but I don't want an answer.
"It sounds as if he misses you," she continues.
"I'm sure he does."
There's a halt in our conversation. I'm sure she didn't expect the bitter tone of my voice.
I eye the plate on the corner of the table, aware that I won't touch my food until we're done talking. If she hears me chewing while on the phone with her, I'll never hear the end of it.
"Why are you so insensitive, Isabella?" she starts. My stomach rumbles. I close my eyes and tighten my grip on the phone. "Everything is second priority to you. It's all about work. Work is not a husband, you know? Work is not family."
I don't tell her I'm a product of what I know. Years of dinner table conversations about the importance of power, money, and respect.
Countless hours of training on how to be discreet and impassive, learning how to hide my feelings from the outside world, brushing questionable family secrets under the carpet.
Thousands of denied hugs from everyone around me.
I am what you taught me mother, I want to say. I left to escape the impending hardening of my soul. I'm still not sure if I left in time.
I say none of that. There's too much passion behind those words.
She'd disapprove.
We hang up after the tight silence that follows.
I sit in the dark, staring at the food I no longer feel like eating. After a moment, I get up and take the plate to the kitchen. I don't bother figuring out what to do with it.
It's still early, but I settle in my bed, ready to end this day.
I find the sketch Edward gave me on my bedside table, crumpled, but staring at me. Next to it, my phone beeps with a text.
I get under the covers before I check it.
It's Edward.
Isabella, thank you for today, it says, and even though I want to, I don't reply.
My alarm doesn't ring.
I wait for it as I watch the sun cast my room in a soft light. Then I remember it's Saturday.
I have no plans for today.
My bed is warm and cozy, and I wish I had it in me to stay here. The constant need to be doing something productive prevents me from doing so. It's hard to get your body to do your will sometimes. Especially when it's been trained a certain way.
Years of alarm clocks dictating an obligation force me to sit up and get out of the comfort of my bed.
My cell phone beeps with incoming messages. Several of them are junk mail. I do have a text message from Alice. She wants to have lunch with me tomorrow at her place.
I send her a quick reply to confirm the time and offer to bring wine, even though now I have to go out to buy it.
I go about my quiet day, ignoring the sheet of paper with a charcoal drawing that sits next to my bed.
The reminder of the way he looked at me yesterday is enough to drive me crazy.
Everything about our time together feels like as it has happened to someone else.
Everything about him makes me curious.
For a second, I entertain mentioning Edward to my mother. I could've told her I let a man paint a nude portrait of me. I could've explained to her how his green eyes make my heart race and my palms sweat.
I could've told her that I had never felt more scared or alive as I did yesterday when I took off my robe.
She would probably lock me up in rehab or something.
I chuckle, shaking my head at my absurd thoughts, swallowing the bitter taste of reality.
Edward's the one who opens the door for me when I get to Alice's place the next day.
Of course he's here, smiling at me like we're old friends. His feet are clad in socks because he has already made himself at home.
"I texted you," he says as soon as I walk past him. He stops me to take the wine bottle out of my hands.
"I got it," I say, taking my coat off.
"You didn't reply." He looks down at the wine bottle, nodding as if in approval. Then he meets my eyes, waiting for my excuse.
I don't have one.
"What was there to say?" I say instead.
He opens his mouth at the same time Alice pushes him to the side.
"You're here!" Alice says, wrapping her arms around me and directing me toward the kitchen, leaving Edward behind.
Her face is bright. She's wearing a dirty pink apron and talking quickly about all the disasters she has avoided in the kitchen during the day.
Jasper shouts his greeting from the living room, and makes a comment to Edward about something that happened on the TV.
"Can I help?" I ask Alice, looking around the mess of dirty pots and pans on the counter.
Alice takes a moment to look me from head to toe before shaking her head.
"What?" I say, confused.
"You're wearing nice clothes," she says. "I don't want you to get them dirty."
I look down to my grey skirt and my deep green blouse.
"Go sit with Edward, and tell Jasper to get in here," Alice says, pushing me toward the living room without giving me a chance to argue.
"Alice requests you in the kitchen, sir," I say to Jasper with a small smile. He chuckles and stands up, pausing to give me a kiss on the cheek.
I sit next to Edward on the couch, wanting to be casual about his presence in an environment that he doesn't own.
This is my territory.
My lunches and dinners with Alice and Jasper are not a rare occurrence in my life.
Just because I don't take my shoes off and prop my feet on the living room table, doesn't mean I'm the outcast here.
"How about 'you're welcome' or 'I should be thanking you'? Something along those lines," he says, carrying on our conversation as though it wasn't interrupted.
I laugh. "You've very conceited." It's something I've noticed before.
"I wish you were," he says. The tone of his voice is lower than I expected—sad almost. I turn my body to face him instead of the television.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you act the part of a confident woman, but I don't think you are," he says after a tense moment of silence, looking down at the couch cushion between us.
The urge to deny his assessment threatens to make me look like a teenage girl arguing with a friend, so I force myself to take my time to mull over his words, even though I already know what I'm going to say.
"You don't know me."
He nods and smiles, as if pleased by my answer.
Then he looks up at me with a challenging look in his eyes.
"So you keep saying."
Lunch is pleasurable enough. It's hard to remember this is the same man who has a way of getting under my skin. Or that he has seen me in a way no one else has. Not even past lovers.
Regardless, the conversation is never awkward or uncomfortable even with the way Edward looks at me from time to time. Alice and I have known each other for a long time, and so have Jasper and Edward, which makes it easy for the conversations to flow.
The food is lovely, and we all praise Alice for her hard work.
When both Edward and I offer to help with the dishes, Alice practically forces us out, commenting on how much better she'll feel if Edward and I leave together.
I don't call her on her bullshit excuse.
She knows I've been taking care of myself for a long time.
"Is Alice trying to set you up with me?" Edward asks me as soon as we're out of the house. He messes with the zipper of his leather jacket and starts walking.
"Alice is always trying to set me up with someone," I say, shaking my head and tightening the bow of my coat around my waist. "She's usually not subtle about it."
Edward laughs.
"Is she under the misconception that you can't get your own dates? Has she seen you?" he asks, gesturing with his hand toward my face, then the rest of my body.
His compliment warms my skin.
"It's not that simple," I say in a low voice, praying he doesn't hear me.
"Ah." He stops walking and turns to look at me. "The curse of the successful woman. Men are intimidated by you."
I shrug in response, not wanting to go down this disaster of a conversation waiting to happen.
"Don't worry, Isabella, the right one will see you in a different light—the one that matters."
See you next week, hopefully not as late.