Chapter Seven Notes: This chapter should seriously be called "Sexual Tension Overkill." I find it somewhat ironic that this title is actually called Shakespeare. I'm sure he's rolling over in his grave as I write this…
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing Twilight. Nor do I have any claim on the lines taken from Act I, Scene V of William Shakespeare's Romeo & Juliet. No intent to commit copyright infringement, just to butcher the great works in our literary history.
CHAPTER SEVEN: Shakespeare
Edward Cullen wreaked havoc on my sleeping habits. Our conversation in English shook me to the core, and as I tried to force myself to sleep later that evening, I could think of nothing but the way his eyes memorized my face as I babbled on endlessly about myself, a subject that was surely of no consequence to him. At first, this made butterflies flutter about my stomach. However, guilt soon swallowed up the butterflies as thoughts of Jacob began to creep into my head. He picked me up that afternoon from school, but I shared nothing about my day, especially my mystifying, heart-stopping tête-à-tête with Edward in English.
Jacob and I never discussed the two weeks I spent unconscious in the ICU. He knew it bothered me to even think of it, so he never broached the topic. Renee told me once that Jake spent every moment he wasn't at school or sleeping hovering about my hospital room, holding one-sided conversations and turning the television to shows he knew I enjoyed. We'd only been friends then, but it didn't change how he'd been there for me. And now I kept secrets from him for no apparent reason… Yet, what was the point in telling him of how I passed the time in English by holding a single, weirdly personal conversation with a total stranger? When I eventually lost consciousness around two in the morning, my heart still felt poignantly heavy.
I woke up at seven with the resolve that Monday had been a fluke; surely, Edward Cullen saw me as a bizarre, emotionally retarded girl he'd go out of his way to avoid. The thought eased my guilt but did not grant me relief from the unfathomable resurgence of butterflies that flurried in my abdomen.
My prediction proved correct, as lunch passed without him casting a single glance in my direction. As I hobbled to English, the pain from my ankle now pushed aside in favor of pangs of anxiety, I held my breath, not knowing whether I hoped for or dreaded Mr. Berty's return. Regardless, there he was, propped wearily against his desk, his nose red but his hands clutching copies of Romeo & Juliet. I exhaled and found my seat.
Edward appeared seconds before the bell, and I didn't dare raise my eyes from my desk. He took his seat without making a sound, and I remained in a hunched position, resembling a nervous question mark. As class began, my eyes developed a personality of their own. They drifted aimlessly over to the long white fingers that were folded on the neighboring desk and then, stupidly, they flickered to his face. He seemed to sense it immediately, and, almost as if he had no control over his own movements, he turned slightly. We stared at each other for a fraction of a second before, almost defiantly, he snapped his attention back to the front of the room. On cue, the blood rushed to my face.
I remained a statue for the remainder of the class. As soon as Mr. Berty dismissed us, I shot to my feet, my nervousness over the neighboring desk's occupant overpowering the memory of my fractured ankle. Immediately, I reached to catch myself on the edge of my desk, but something else caught me first. I looked up to find Edward gently grasping my forearm, his eyes wide and apparently surprised by his own reflexes. His touch electrified me, raising goose bumps on my skin. He released me instantaneously.
Backing up a step, he bit his lip and cocked his head. Words seemed to escape him, as he just stared down at me, his expression flashing between dazed confusion and… panic?
I could only guess what my face looked like, but nonetheless, I allowed myself to look up into his wild, conflicted eyes. "Thanks," I murmured.
"Any time." His lips broke into a slight grin. "You know, with your track record, you should be more cautious."
"Yeah, I know. Caution's not really my style, though." Against my better judgment, I found my lips curling up into misguided smile.
His tone grew stern. "Well, it should be."
I didn't realize my jaw was unhinged until I spotted Mike and Angela staring at me from across the room. I made a ridiculous attempt at limping gracefully past Edward Cullen, but I knew that to him, I probably resembled Quasimoto.
I spent my sleepless hours that night reading ahead in Romeo & Juliet. Mr. Berty only assigned the first act, but even though I'd read the play more times than I could count, I found it impossible to stop. For years, I'd harbored a schoolgirl crush on Romeo. Even now, reading his lines still made my heart flutter. Eventually, the reality of Edward Cullen and the secrets I kept from Jacob gave way to my imagination, and I fell asleep with a smile on my face.
The next day, my mood had noticeably improved from the previous morning; even Charlie commented on the drive to school that I appeared "perky." I scoffed under my breath but knew he meant it as a complement.
At lunch, my good humor continued as I complemented Jessica on her sweater. I instantly regretted it, as she smiled and asked if I had any weekend plans. "Uh, I think Jake and I are seeing some racing movie in Port Angeles. Why?"
"Oh, I wanted to do some shopping, wondered if you'd be interested." Her voice was rushed, as I could tell she suddenly found a new focus in our conversation. "Say, you haven't told me much about him. How long have you two been going out? Isn't it hard going out with someone so… young?"
I knew she didn't mean to be rude, but I couldn't help but roll my eyes. "He's sixteen; it's not like he's in diapers, Jess. Besides, we've been friends forever, so I know him really well." My discomfort grew as I noticed Mike and Lauren had stopped talking and now listened attentively. Knowing it was pointless to continue, I added, "He's really cool, you'd like him."
"I've met him a couple of times, down at the beach. He does seem nice, I guess." Jessica leaned forward intently. "What are you guys going to do next year, when you go off to school?"
"I, um, I don't know. We haven't really talked about it." I reprimanded myself for thinking aloud without censoring first. Lauren and Jessica exchanged knowing looks.
Clearing my throat, I spoke the inevitable truth. "Actually, I can't really afford to go away anywhere, so I'm not really worried." Even I could recognize the disappointment in my voice. I tended to avoid thinking about the future as much as possible. Mostly, I focused on comparing the present with the past. I'd never felt complete until Jake. He made me happy, and there was no guarantee that some university miles away could compete.
I gave Jessica a small smile and rose with my crutches, even though fifteen minutes remained before the bell. "I need to catch up on some reading for English. I'll catch you guys later." My voice rang with false enthusiasm.
The pained journey from the cafeteria to English grew more burdensome as rain began to pound against the hood of my jacket. Miraculously, gravity remained in my favor as I arrived at the door to Mr. Berty's classroom looking like a drowned rat but still in full control of my balance. Sighing with relief, I pushed open the door and felt my heart pound from somewhere in my lower abdomen. Edward sat alone in the dark, buried in what appeared to be the latter half of Romeo & Juliet.
"Oh, sorry." I had no idea why I apologized, but it felt appropriate, given the way his eyes bored through me.
He simply shrugged and returned his eyes to the play. Awkwardly, I took my seat next to him and pulled out my own copy, pretending to become engrossed in the fourth act, even though I could barely see without the glow of fluorescent lights that usually poured over my desk.
I needed a substantial distraction from Edward, so I paged ahead to the scene where Juliet drinks the vial of poison. I instantly regretted the decision, as I never successfully made it through her feigned suicide attempt without tearing up. Disgusted with myself, I reflexively slammed my book shut. I was almost grateful for the sudden, searing itch that erupted on my ankle. Reaching into my bag, I grabbed a pencil and maneuvered it between my cast and my skin. When I looked up, Edward was quietly laughing, the play forgotten on his desk.
"Something funny?" I asked through my teeth.
"Just you," he chuckled.
"Glad I could entertain you." I clenched my jaw and picked up my book, rolling my eyes at myself when I realized I had been pretending to study the title page.
"Did you get your reading done?" He was just making conversation, but I felt insulted by the insinuation in his voice.
"Yes. And then some. You?"
"Oh, I've read it before." The bored tone in his voice betrayed him.
"And you don't like it?"
"Not really."
My brow furrowed. "What's wrong with it?" I felt offended, as if I'd written it myself.
"Romeo… he's a little ridiculous, don't you think?" He spoke rhetorically, but I refused to let it slide.
"Romeo is fantastic."
He sighed. "He's fickle and irresponsible. One minute, he's chasing after Rosaline, the next he's marrying Juliet. Plus, he fails to think through his plans. Had he learned the art of communication, he would have lived to grow tired of Juliet and force his misguided affections onto some other poor soul."
Other students had begun to pour into the room, but I refused to be distracted. In a hushed voice, I countered, "Romeo is the greatest fantasy in all of literature. He's not fickle, he's romantic, even if he's impossibly unrealistic." I should have shut my mouth, but I couldn't just stand there as someone like Edward Cullen ripped apart my favorite fictional character of all time. "The love he feels for Juliet is totally absurd, but Shakespeare makes it seem real, as if something like that could really happen. In a single second, Romeo loves her unconditionally. It's so powerful that anything else, including Rosaline, becomes obsolete. He's amazing because while you're reading his lines, you believe that irresponsible, instantaneous love is possible… even when it's not."
He arched his eyebrows as I pretended that I wasn't melting into the floor. "Well, I disagree. I think he's a bit of an idiot." Then roving his eyes over my face, he continued, "And aren't you a little young to be so pessimistic?"
I noticed Mr. Berty studying us as we spoke, likely crediting his own teaching prowess for our heated literary debate. "I'm not pessimistic," I murmured defensively, "I just know how the world works." My mind automatically drifted to Renee and Charlie.
"Besides what are you, a hundred years old?" I asked sarcastically, still annoyed. "Aren't you a little young to fault Shakespeare?"
Not answering my question, Edward laughed sardonically under his breath. "A hundred and four actually."
"Hilarious." I turned to the front of the room where Mr. Berty began his discussion of the prologue.
By the time he reached scene five a half hour later, my blood pressure finally returned to normal. I found myself sufficiently distracted by Mr. Berty's insistence that students read his favorite passages out loud; Mike's reluctant portrayal of Juliet's nurse was especially riveting. I was still chuckling to myself when the sound of my name brought me back to a jarring reality. "Miss Swan, Mr. Cullen, since you two share such strong feelings for this play, why don't you read Romeo and Juliet's first scene for us?"
Oh God. I didn't dare look at Edward, but I was almost certain we wore the same expression of horrified unwillingness.
I heard him sigh before the words began to tumble from his lips. "If I profane with my unworthiest hand, this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this. My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand. To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss."
I sat motionless before I realized I was supposed to respond. My voice shaking, I stared down at the page before me. "Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this; for saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss."
He delivered his next line with controlled indifference. "Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?"
I failed miserably at matching his tone, my words stumbling out in a rush as if I had Tourette's syndrome. "Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer."
"O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; They pray — grant thou, lest faith turn to despair." I must have imagined in vein the change in his voice on that last word.
My control improved on my next line. "Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake."
"Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take." I dared to look at him during the pause he took during the stage direction. I could swear he swallowed ever so slightly as his eyes skimmed the italicized phrase "Kisses her."His voice minutely quieter, he continued his line, "Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged."
Miraculously, I spoke, my voice steady. "Then have my lips the sin that they have took."
His next lines came out effortlessly, but I didn't dare lift my eyes to his. "Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged. Give me my sin again." I had to be imagining things, because I could have sworn I felt his eyes on me when he was supposed to be reading.
My face reddened at the repetition of "Kisses her" after his last line. Mesmerized, not needing to look down at the words on the page, I responded, "You kiss by the book."
Mr. Berty took the opportunity to provide his thoughts on Shakespeare's prose. As the monotone of his voice filtered through the room, I realized I wasn't breathing. Out of the farthest corner of my eye, I spotted Edward's fingers drumming rapidly against his leg. I refused to move, denying him a chance to see my face, which was likely tinged a deep maroon.
When class ended moments later, we both shot up out of our seats, he elegantly as a reed propelled by the wind and me looking like a one-legged jack rabbit. Predictably, he disappeared before I could feign preoccupation with my own feet. As I gathered up my things, I didn't think of Jacob or guilt or the sleepless night ahead of me; rather, all that rang through my head was the sound of Edward Cullen's voice and the rapid thumping coming from somewhere in my chest.
Chapter Seven End Notes: This is the fluffiest thing I've ever written by a mile. Excuse me while I run off to murder a bunny so all is right in the universe…