Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I'm just the uninvited guest swimming in her pool.


The Path We Chose

Chapter 8: For Whom The Mind Melds

If I thought things were different after our first kiss, it was nothing compared to this. Not only was it hard not to touch whenever we were near, but even when we weren't together I wanted to touch him. For the next few weeks after our first time, every time we were alone together, I made him take off his shirt. It just couldn't be there. As soft as cotton is, it's nothing compared to Edward's skin. And I couldn't imagine a more beautiful vision than the way his chest moved when he breathed. It got to the point where we would enter his room or my room and once the door was closed, he just took off his shirt. I didn't even have to ask him anymore. Sometimes he would have to make me promise not to touch him, though. Like now, in his room, when we were studying for finals. If I touched him, it inevitably turned into more, which turned into even more, which turned into everything.

"Just, put it back on or I am going to touch you. This is impossible."

He laughed. "I can't imagine it's any worse than if you were without a top right now. I just couldn't torture myself like that. You're like a masochist." He put his shirt back on, navy blue and tight--I could see the outline of his chest as he stood in front of his desk. The fact that his shirt wasn't transparent was all that helped my self-control.

But now I could at least half-concentrate on my History text. He was sitting at his desk bent over a book and I was sitting on his floor, my back against the bed with my book in my lap. Neither one of us could actually be on the bed while studying. And we couldn't be too close to each other…or facing. We had way too many rules for being alone together, but we were determined to keep our grades up.

The type in my History book started blending together. I couldn't read anymore and looked up, out the window. "It's snowing." I went to the window by Edward's desk. The tree branches were draped in white. "It's so beautiful." I turned to Edward, still seated at his desk, looking at me. "You have the best room ever."

He came up behind me, wrapped his arms around my waist, and kissed the side of my neck, then licked. "Edward. Your mom is downstairs."

"But you're right here."

"We promised each other we would study. You may be able to ace all your AP classes without studying, but I can't. I have to work for my grades."

"You're the smartest person I know."

"Emmett is the smartest person you know."

"He's a different kind of smart. Besides, haven't you been studying right over there by my bed?"

"Yes."

"And how's that been working out for ya?" He planted light kisses along my jaw and I laughed. Then I turned around and kissed him back because I couldn't resist anymore. When he moved the kisses along my cheek toward my ear I asked, "Are you sure you want to take it there with your mom home?"

"I really wish you would stop mentioning my mom." His breath was in my ear and I was done for. It was now up to him to be, or not be, the responsible one. He opted for responsibility and pulled away. "Let's decorate the Christmas tree."

"You will do anything to get out of studying."

"No, I just have to get us out of my room or something is going to happen."

I agreed to decorate the tree with him because the tree my dad brought home was only three feet tall and the branches weren't even strong enough to hold ornaments. I had to tie construction-paper stars to it. I'd made my reluctant dad help me cut out the stars and tie them on with me so that maybe next year he would buy a stronger tree and actual ornaments. The Cullens' tree may have been fake and brought down from the attic, but at least it could hold a plethora of colorful glass ornaments. Another reason I agreed to decorate the tree was that Edward promised to quiz me on the American Revolution and societal changes. Yes, that did take some of the fun out of it.


At school, it seemed the general population of Forks High was finally getting used to Edward and me. Fewer eyes were ogling us. Jessica and Lauren were not part of the general population. They cornered me in the bathroom on the last day of the semester. (I, at that moment, resolved myself from ever going to the bathroom at school again.) I heard my name just as I was about to enter the bathroom stall. Walking toward me, the two Heathers backed me right up against the white tile wall. It was cold against my arms, even through my sleeves. Jessica thought she would be so kind as to let me know that my relationship with Edward was doomed. Yes, she used the word doomed like she was in a sci-fi special. I was slightly surprised that her voice didn't get all loud and deep and booming when she said it.

Lauren, though she had never stooped to my level for a chitchat before, also felt the need to warn me, "friend to friend," for my own good. She told me with her shiny pink lips that Edward was a teenage boy and would get over me soon enough. I wouldn't stand a chance next to the line-up of girls ready to pounce on him--herself included. I wanted to let her know that it was perfect the way she likened herself to a cat, but I knew the only word she would hear was, "perfect."

"Look at yourself," Jessica said. "You don't even make yourself pretty for him." She twirled a tendril around her finger like the word "pretty" reminded her of her hair.

Okay, that statement, I am embarrassed to say, did make my eyes dampen, but there was no way in hell I would give her the satisfaction of tears. I blinked and swallowed and they were gone.

I couldn't wear makeup. I had tried before, but I always felt like a clown in it. Other girls looked pretty, but not me. I felt more like a drag-queen or Tammy Faye Baker when I tried to wear makeup (Tammy's blond, mascara-dripping days). Plus, it made my skin feel weird and chalky--I couldn't stand it. Once I tried to wear makeup to school back in Phoenix, and I just ended up washing it off in the bathroom. The most I could stand was lip gloss, and sometimes, a little mascara.

Lauren and Jessica telling me I wasn't good enough for Edward, I could take. I even kind of understood where they were coming from. Beautiful girls that try so hard with Edward Cullen can't land him, but regular, everyday new-girl who doesn't try at all gets him after only knowing him for a month. I could take all this from these girls or anyone else--I just didn't want him to hear it. I wanted him to see me through his eyes, not the way people like Jessica and Lauren saw me. It wasn't that I thought it would change his mind at all. It would just humiliate me if he knew others thought I wasn't good enough for him. Lucky for me, I didn't think Jessica or Lauren had the nerve to insult me in front of him. They saw, just like everyone else, how tightly Edward held onto me all the time. They might flirt with him like floozies in a brothel and him, the only man--but the insults, they would save those for when I was alone. I could accept that.

"Jessica, I have never 'made myself pretty' as you say, yet he kisses me anyway. He wants to be with me, anyway. He tells me I'm beautiful, anyway." I left out that he told me I was beautiful while kissing my lips in my bedroom, and kissing my stomach on my bed, and kissing the arch of my foot on his bed. "If our relationship doesn't work out," I said, "the reason will never be because I am not pretty enough." I wanted to add that I did not feel threatened by them, but I knew they would only see that as a challenge. I'd seen first hand how much Jessica, alone, enjoyed a challenge. It was relentless, the way she went after Edward as it was. And before him, Jasper, regardless of how creatively he turned her down. I'd heard Jasper tell her, I'd rather wash my dog. The following day she started carrying her tiny accessory dog in her purse until the principal sent her home. On another occasion, Jasper had told her, I only like girls who aren't afraid to wear tie-dye, and of course she started wearing tie-dyed t-shirts, tied high at the waist to show off her flat stomach.

Jessica and Lauren just stared at me in the bathroom trying to come up with another insult that might knock my sorry ass down. I gave them a couple of minutes, then left them there. I walked out of the bathroom smiling, even though I never actually used the toilet and still had to go.

In my Literature class, we were studying American writers. I don't know if I was still on a high from my showdown with the two Heathers or if it was because I still had to pee, or if it really was because I truly disagreed with Rosalie, but she said something ridiculous so I had to step in. She'd been talking about some author. I wasn't really paying attention, having been distracted by my full bladder. What I heard was: "…unlike Hemingway, who is far from the genius people claim him to be." My head shot up as she was looking around for someone to take her on. She knew exactly what she was doing. In that moment, I saw just how perfect she and Emmett were for each other. She pushed her blond hair off her shoulder and shook her head with her nose in the air. It seemed like a natural girlish gesture, just shaking the hair out of her face, but I saw it for what it was…conceit. She was done talking. She was waiting for someone to bite her bait. What I didn't know was that she hadn't expected the argument to focus on Hemingway. Since the meat of her comment went unheard by me, Hemingway was what she got.

"Have you read Hemingway?" I asked.

"Of course I've read that narcissistic misogynist."

I had studied Hemingway last year and after that comment, I knew I could take her on. I cleared my throat to make way for my best I-know-what-I'm-talking-about voice. "I can see that your preconceived notions of Hemingway are getting in the way of really reading his work. You can't just focus on his story content to see his genius, you have too look at his style."

"But if you're going to label someone a genius, how can you overlook substance? He would not want you to overlook his story content, anyway. He wrote with an agenda." She looked away from me like the conversation was over.

"See, you're adding your opinion of Hemingway's person to his writing. He was a realist; he even said it is the writer's job to tell the truth. Maybe he had an agenda. Or maybe he was simply sharing his version of truth. It's hard to be certain because of his ability to take what is real and brew it into fiction so convincing, many readers do not differentiate between Hemingway himself and his art. Anyway, I'm not saying you should overlook his substance, but to just take a look at his style. His writing style is simplistic, but very weighted at the same time. That is not easy. "

"Example?"

I would have explained all the weight held in his famous, simple sentence, He was dead and that was all, had Mrs. Salazar not interrupted us.

"Okay girls," she said, removing her glasses and pressing her fingers into her tightly shut eyes as if her eyes hurt her. Her white hair was cut so close to her head, I might have thought she had shaved it and was now growing it out if she hadn't worn that same style since the first day of school. "Let's get back on track, we were focusing on Fitzgerald…"

After class I raced to the bathroom, the very place I had vowed never to return again only an hour earlier. I entered carefully looking every direction, even behind me, then ran right into the stall. I barely got my pants down fast enough because, apparently you can hold your pee in for over an hour by just jiggling, but when you're next to the toilet it is virtually impossible to hold out any longer. After my welcomed relief, I ran into Alice on my way to the cafeteria.

"Bella, where were you? Edward's looking for you."

"I just had to go to the bathroom. Where is he?"

"He's in the cafeteria, at our table, and he keeps looking for your entrance," she laughed. "Sometimes, I swear, it's like he's afraid you're going to disappear." We walked together until I stopped just outside the double doors, other kids swiftly moving past us to satisfy their growling tummies.

"Alice, how do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Get through the day without, you know…" I had to whisper it, "…jumping Jasper's bones. You know, after you, you know."

"You and Edward?!"

"Shh! Shh!" I waved a hand at her.

"Sorry, I can't help you, Bells, Jasper and I, we haven't--"

"Seriously?! But I thought--he's always got his hands all over you."

"I make him touch me," she said. "Have you ever felt him?"

"He's so warm. How does he do that?"

"Magic."

I looked at her. That was no explanation. She thought she was in a fairytale or something. I think I frowned.

"I'm kidding. No, his body temperature runs slightly higher than average. It's not too hot, but enough to feel good, especially on a cold day. His mom used to take him to see doctors, but they all insisted nothing was wrong. It's just normal for Jasper."

"What about the other thing, though?"

"The calming nature?"

"Exactly."

"I'm not sure. I have a theory though. I think it has to do with the fact that he is completely unselfish. I don't think he has a selfish vein running through him. If you believe in energy--that, paired with his warmth--what we're probably feeling is his pure empathy. He doesn't want anyone to hurt. Not even an ant. Once, outside my house he accidentally stepped on a flower. He was on the ground, lifting the flower up before I even knew what he had done. He asked me for a glass of water and he gave it a drink. I think when he touches people, he passes that energy on."

"Yeah, it's subtle at first, but then when it happens every time it gets really eerie."

"Tell me about it. Emmett can't stand it. You know he's a facts guy; he doesn't like anything he can't explain."

"But how can you not, Alice? I mean how can you not do it when he's making you feel all warm and fuzzy?" I ignored the fact that I could do the act but I had trouble saying the actual word, sex. Alice had no trouble at all, she said it loud and clear, and I do mean loud.

"We're waiting. I am not having sex before marriage."

"Shh." I swear this girl thought we were alone. "Are you serious?" I whispered, hoping she would catch on.

"Nope. It's how my mom raised me." I decided she didn't know how to whisper. I would have to remember that.

"Aw, Alice, you're magic, too."

"I know." She gave me her nose-crinkle. She did know. I wanted to ruffle her hair because she was so darn cute, but she would probably get mad at me for messing it up.

I peeked my head through the cafeteria door. Edward was looking right at me and he lifted his arms in question.

I tugged on Alice's hand because Edward was emotionally tugging on me from all the way across the room. Edward and I had a little magic of our own. I walked right into his arms and Alice went to Jasper. My head rested against Edward's shoulder as I watched Alice pick up Jasper's arms one by one and wrap them around her. He smiled and kissed the crown of her head. It was sweet the way he had to lean way down to do that.

I snuck a glance over at Jessica's table hoping she would be paying no mind to me. But she was looking right at me. I turned away wondering what it would take to get her to leave me alone. The feeling of her eyes on me had me so distracted that I barely took note when Rosalie said, "Hey, Bella."

"Hi, Rosalie." And then my head shot up at her for the second time that day. She had never said hello to me before. Not even when Edward first introduced us.

"Can you come here for a minute?"

Had she just asked me to come to her, not command it? I walked around the table to where she was standing. Everyone at our table was watching this new Bella/Rosalie interaction.

She bent down because she was much taller than me, especially in her heels. "How did you do that today in class? Hemingway isn't even on the syllabus. How did you answer like that without even pausing to think about it?"

"What, you think you're the only one who can do that?"

She folded her arms, arched her back and raised an eyebrow at me. "Fine," I said. "I wrote an expository paper on him last year. You struck a nerve, that's it. Mystery solved."

"Good job," she said, relaxing out of her I'm-tougher-than-you stance. "I think you really knocked Mrs. Salazar on her ass. Her head was spinning." Then we laughed. Rosalie and I laughed. Together. The rest of our friends were still gaping at us and when my eyes met Rosalie's again, she was staring down at me. For a second, I was afraid her scowl would return. "I'm going to read Hemingway again and I'll let you know if I agree with you or not."

"Read The Sun Also Rises," I told her because I remembered that one having a strong female character.

"Wait a second. Hold the fuckin' ghost," Emmett said. "Did I hear that correctly? B, you just took on Rosalie and won?"

"Don't get any ideas. I'm not playing your mind game, my head hurts enough already. You don't even know what I've been through today. First Jessica and Lauren in the bathroom, then Rosalie and Alice," Alice's eyes widened and I shook my head letting her know I wasn't going to spill. I didn't know why she was worried, though, it wasn't like she had been quiet at all about it outside the cafeteria as student after student had passed us by. "I can't take you on too, Emmett."

"Hey, don't jump to conclusions, B. I was just congratulating you."

"What about Jessica and Lauren?" Edward said.

"It's nothing." I went to him and sat on his lap. "Please, I don't want to talk about it."

He nodded and rubbed my back. I put an arm around his neck and bit into my sandwich. I hoped it didn't bother him that my crumbs were falling on his shirt.


((Emmett's comment, "hold the...ghost" is in reference to an Abbott and Costello move titled: "Hold That Ghost". I know, totally obscure, but that's Emmett for you.))

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