The characters are Stephanie Meyer's, their behavior is mine.
Kissing Instructions
- 3 -
The next morning, or I should say the next lunchtime, when I wake up I find Edward Cullen in my room, so the events of the previous night weren't a delirious alcohol-fuelled dream.
"What are you doing?" I ask, because it looks like he's watching me.
"Watching you," he answers. "I've been watching you for the last hour. You're beautiful."
"You must have me mixed up with someone else," I say, and then I have to stretch, because first thing when you wake up, you stretch.
For a split second I forget he's there, and I raise my arms above my head and push my hands as far to the ceiling as they'll go, tilt my head to the ceiling as well, and arch my back. After the split second I remember I have an audience, and now I discover he's not just looking, he's staring. Arching my back like I just did makes it look as though I'm pushing my breasts out, which I'm not.
"Yoga," I say, immediately hunching over. I'm wearing a skimpy little top, with no bra, and there's a fully grown man four feet away watching me, and we are alone in here together.
"Friday? No holds barred? That was you I made that arrangement with, wasn't it?" I say, and I'm not getting out of bed with him there, because if I remember correctly my sleeping shorts are sort of form-fitting, and they come up to my hips, and my top comes down to my belly button, and there is some flesh that would probably be exposed, like most of it including my entire legs, if I were to get up right now. Last night I was drunk, so he couldn't have seen anything.
"Friday," he agrees, standing up. "Are you going to have any new tricks? Like bringing twenty people and going against the grain of democracy?"
"No. Talent will see me though," I say. "Excuse me for not getting up. I seem to be in my underwear."
"You don't look ridiculous," he says, and I need to revise my idea that when I got drunk, he couldn't see anything.
"Off you go. Goodbye," I say, waving.
When Alice gets in I have to tell her that her brother slept in her bed, and she grimaces and says, "Edward germs? I've got to change the sheets immediately! What was he doing here?"
"I was a bit under the weather last night. He stayed to look after me," I admit.
"Oh, Bella, be careful, won't you? He's not a complete pig, but there have been quite a few women, and they never seem to last long. He really wants to find a girlfriend but he's got to learn to take things a bit slower and get to know someone first instead of rushing straight in and getting disappointed. God, he's never even gone on a proper date! He rang me and was asking after you last week actually, and he tried to pretend it was about the open-mic challenge business, but I thought there might be a bit more to it than that. If he hurts you I'll kill him, and so will Emmett, and probably Jazz too, and then Rose wouldn't want to be left out, so he'll die four grizzly and painful deaths, but it will be too late by then."
I leave her wondering whether to kill him before he gets the chance to hurt me rather than after the fact, and I go to my first lecture.
Come Friday I know more about the wonders of medicine than I did a week ago, and I've discovered a hitherto unsuspected ability - I can put a blockade on a subject of my choosing and bar it from my thoughts. Edward Cullen cannot get into my head.
The friends who came to see me at the Exchange last Friday have all expressed the desire to come again, and I've had to regretfully tell them no.
"My opponent thought I'd cheated by inviting you all," I tell them.
"Which opponent?" Mike asks.
"The defending champion, Edward Cullen," I say.
"Edward? He was sooo hot!" Jessica exclaims. "I nearly had heart stoppage. He's going to be there again tonight?"
"Yes, he is, but honestly, if you guys are there again it'll look like I'm proving his point."
"He sounds like a control freak. He can't tell you who's allowed to come and listen to you sing," Eric frowns.
"Look, if I do it again next week, you can all come along, but just not tonight. How about that?" I suggest. They're not appeased, but they'll go along with it.
I get ready, and tonight I'm not wearing one of the confections Alice chose for me, and I'm not wearing make-up. I'm going to be the real me, ordinary, plain Bella Swan.
My hair is hanging around my face the way it normally is, and I'm in a white t-shirt and jeans, with sneakers.
Alice takes one look and says disapprovingly, "Bella, you are kidding me!"
"No Alice, I'm not. This is what I'm wearing," I insist.
We arrive at the Exchange, and Jasper is there, and to my surprise, so are Emmett and Rosalie.
"So who are you all going to vote for tonight?" I ask them. "Where do your loyalties lie?"
"With you all the way, Bella. All the way," Emmett laughs, despite a thump on the arm from Jazz, and a dagger look from Rosalie.
"I will vote for whoever has the best chance of beating Edward," she sniffs.
"Speaking of my darling brother, where is he?" Alice says, peering around.
"Fixing his stupid hair so he looks nice for Bella, of course," Emmett says, and at Alice's raised eyebrow, he continues, "Apparently she said it was messy, and he's been experimenting with a comb all week. He looks freakin' hilarious."
There is general laughter at this, although not from me. Why should Edward care what I think of his hair?
He turns up a few minutes later, to stunned silence. His hair has indeed been subject to a comb, and marginally tamed. He even has a parting. No-one dares say anything, and they all look at me.
"Hello, Edwin," I say, surprised, and Emmett sniggers.
"Dude, that looks like a toupe," he finally bursts out. "Let me adjust it for you."
"Adjust my hair and I'll adjust your face," Edward says, and he takes my arm and pulls me towards the back of the room.
"Been practicing?" he asks.
I shrug. "I don't need to. In my spare time I'm an internationally renowned maestro and I'm the lead soloist in a flamenco group, La Traviata. Perhaps you've heard of us?"
"A flamenco group named after an Italian opera? No, I haven't, oddly enough," he says. I want to mess his hair up.
"Edward, stand still, I think you have nits," I say, as though you could see a nit in this pit of darkness. You couldn't see a giant nit and its identical twin.
"What?" he asks and I've reached up and put my hand in his hair, ruffling it about a bit.
"No, it's okay, you don't, it was just a trick of the light," I tell him. "You're not going to adjust my face are you?"
"No, you don't need it. I've told you, you're beautiful," he says softly. This is how he seduces girls. He stands there all tall and deep-voiced and stares, and he says lovely, though not strictly true things to them, and they melt and go home with him, and then he exchanges them the next week.
"Gird your loins, Bella, you're about to be beaten," he says then.
"We'll see, but I don't go down easily," I respond, and as his expression intensifies into a frown, the double meaning of what I've just said occurs to me. I feel bright scarlet heat spread through my cheeks, and he looks disturbed, as though he's aware of it and it affects him. I brush past him, and he lets me go.
Of the three of us, Jasper is up first, and the ease with which he performs is his greatest strength. He radiates such a warmth I almost feel manipulated by it, but of course, he can't manipulate other people's feelings, he's just hugely charismatic.
Edward gets up then, and does his angsty thing, with his eyes closed, and his mumbling delivery. Jasper's songs dance on the air, and you want to play with them. Edward's lie as thick and heavy as a blanket of passion and need and you feel every note like a knife, as though he's giving his all.
What do people feel when they hear mine? I like to think my songs are about receptivity and wisdom and character, and they make people feel reflective. I feel reflective when I write and perform them. I'm applauded heartily, especially by Emmett, who makes enough noise for ten people, and then the votes are counted.
"Are you on your second vodka, Ms Flamenco Queen?" Edward leans over and says to me, while we wait for the judgement.
"No, my first," I nod pleasantly back.
When the winner is announced, it's Jasper. Emmett manages to look pleased and disappointed at the same time, Alice squeals and jumps straight onto Jasper's lap, and Edward and I eye one another darkly.
"You have to kiss him now, you know," we say to each other at the same time, and Alice extricates herself long enough to give us a questioning look.
Then Edward takes my hand again, and pulls me to the back of the room. We sure seem to spend a lot of time down there.
"I want to talk to you about a previous conversation," he says.
"Everything you say seems to be about a previous conversation," I say.
"Well, I've been conducting my own informal survey about kissing, and my findings pretty much bear out what you were saying," he begins.
"How many in your sample?" I ask him.
"Several dozen," he says.
"You kissed several dozen men and women this week?" I ask in astonishment.
He starts to laugh.
"No, I spoke to them," he says. "I did a bit of research, too. Did you know that women have 34 nerve fibers per square inch of their facial skin, and men only have 17?"
No, I didn't know that, because I made up nearly everything I said because I was being a smartass. "Of course," I say.
"And all the girls I spoke to agreed that kissing is a doorway to sexual arousal, and they like men to let things build up, not just go straight for the main goal. If a man used too much tongue to start with, they felt put off."
"Uh-huh," I say. He's just said 'tongue' and under the circumstances I can't be expected to come up with a considered intellectual and academic response.
"They also said that kissing is a very pleasurable and intimate act on its own, and doesn't need to be a preliminary for sex."
"Ah-hah." He said 'sex'. If there's an appropriate reply, I'm incapable of it.
"I asked them if they think men are trainable, and their answers were pretty evenly spilt - some did, some didn't," he says. "They thought it depended on whether or not the men were worth it. Do you want that second vodka yet?"
"Are you referring to a previous conversation?" I say. He seems to keep looking at my mouth.
"Maybe," he says.
"I think I'll skip the second and go straight to the third, if you don't mind," I say.
"I do mind. I want you to have the second," he smiles, and he's still looking at my mouth. "Do you think men are trainable?"
"Some are, some aren't."
"I'll be back with your second drink before you notice I've gone. Wait right here. Oh, actually, you're far too beautiful to be left on your own in a place like this, you'd better come with me," he says, smirking.
God, he's good-looking, but it's not just that. I like that he seems to have remembered everything I've ever said, and I like that he'll tease me gently with my own words. Of course he's very intelligent, because you don't pass your MCATs if you're not, but he's not just intelligent, he's smart.
And he seems to possess some sort of half of my brain. We seem to be an absolute match. Of course, this could just be how he seduces girls, by being exactly, perfectly, mentally matched with them, and then his incredible handsomeness acts as the icing on the cake. Or it's the other way around - handsome first, mental matching second - they both work. And why does he keep saying I'm beautiful?
"About men being trainable," he continues, handing me the drink. "Do you think I might be trainable?"
"How would I know?" I say, taking a mouthful. I will be a menace to society within minutes.
"Do you think I might be worth it?" he says.
"Again, how would I know? You seem to think you're a perfectly good kisser already."
He takes my drink from me, ignoring my yelp of protest, and says seriously, "You know I have a reputation?"
"No, I have no idea about your reputation, or whether or not you deserve it, or even who would say such scurrilous things about you and why."
"It's said that I have a lot of girlfriends, and none of them last very long, and I bring them here and swap them for someone else."
"Oh, you're that Edward Cullen. May I have my drink back please?" I grab it, and swallow the lot, quickly. May I have my heart back please, as well, while you're at it? I've parted company with my good sense too. Did I drop it somewhere on the floor in this poorly lit place? I start looking down.
"Bella, I'm not denying what's been said about me, but I learned a lot conducting my little survey this week. I learned I need to think a bit more carefully about what I want before I make the wrong moves on the wrong girls," he says.
I look back up again. What's he talking about? His lovely eyes, which I now know are an unusual golden color, are very serious and his brows are drawn together in concentration, and he is almost frowning as he speaks. This isn't referring to a previous conversation, it's all new.
I pick up my empty glass, because if I don't have something in my hands I might touch his hair again. He sighs, and puts a hand up, and messes his hair anyway.
"I've been doing everything wrong, and I've kind of figured that out now, and if you think I'm trainable, and I'm worth it, I'd like you be my instructor," he says.
"What sort of instructor? A kissing instructor?" I ask weakly. "I don't know if you need one. What do all your girlfriends think? You said you've never had any complaints."
"None of them are here now, are they?" he points out. "That's either because they didn't want me or I didn't want them."
"Okay, maybe you could do with a few pointers," I say. Where is Alice? Will anybody rescue me from this difficult situation? And hey, if I'm so beautiful why didn't he try anything when he stayed in my room?
We're still down the back, I'm sneaking looks at his luscious mouth and trying not to be caught, and I know I'm in trouble.
"I could make you the best kisser in the State pretty easily, always provided you're willing, but what's in it for me?" I ask him.
"Oh, I'm willing. And you get to kiss the best kisser in the State," he grins. With every grin from him, every stare, and every frown, I know I'm getting in deeper.
"Everyone I kiss becomes the best kisser in the State," I say, and his grin disappears damn fast.
"Edward, I'll tell you right now I don't even know why we're having this little tête-à-tête. It's fascinating, of course, but I'm going to go home. And just so we're clear, last time I had my boy-deflector shield in for a routine check its integrity was uncompromised, so you know what that means."
Now he looks sadder than a puppy that just got told it's not going for a walk today.
"Oh…okay then. I'll see you back to your dorm since Alice will probably be going with Jazz again, I'm sorry if I've offended you, I didn't mean to cross any lines..." he says, and he actually sounds and looks miserable.
I don't know what to believe, what he was just saying about reviewing his own actions and motivation sounded sincere. It sounded as though he'd been reflective. Hmm. And then I think about the way I felt when he sang, about feeling his need to give, and to be taken and accepted.
I think all the time, I probably over think, but suddenly I feel cogs in motion really, really deep, so far down in my brain that they're coming up from the neural tube, from places inside me that have never truly thought before, places that don't use words, but only feel. I stare at him, because something inside me wants him, and it's not to do with what he looks like or even what he says, it's somehow what he is.
How could I know what he is in four meetings?
He catches the look and doesn't say anything and we say our goodnights to everyone else and get to the door. Everything has changed. We walk, not touching, until we get to the Students Hall Of Residence.
"Ah, Bella, just one more thing," he says as I'm fishing around for my key, "Can I refer to a previous conversation?"
"Maybe," I say.
"You know, despite whatever pretending you want to hide behind, you had two drinks tonight."
"No, three," I say. "A first and a third."
"Look, you are a menace to society, but you had two drinks. I think you know what I'm getting at." He pushes a hand into his hair, and faces me.
"No, I don't. You tell me," I say.
"You're mine," he says huskily. He steps to me, and bends his head until our foreheads touch. "You said you're mine," he whispers.
"I need an eleven second kiss first," I say. I said what?
"Do you know, Bella Swan, I've never given a second's thought to the technicalities, or the implications, or the subtleties of kissing until you launched your little discourse at me? You can have your eleven seconds, you can have anything you want, I'll kiss you all over, and I'll find all your nerve receptors. I feel like I've waited a hundred years for you," he says.
We're on the street, and I could jump him right here, or we could go in to my room. We go in to my room.
"Which side of the door do you want to be on when I close it?" I ask him.
"Same side as you. Preferably the inside," he says, and this time I manage the key all by myself, and I feel like a smuggler, going in there after hours with a boy.
But then as soon as we're in there, I'm scared and upset. I don't just want to be this week's girl, but I really, really want to kiss him.
"Why are you here?" I ask him as he towers over me.
"I told you, Bella. I've made the wrong moves on the wrong girls. Now I want to make the right moves on the right girl."
"Good luck finding her," I say.
"I already have. She's you," he whispers. He sits on my bed and pulls me with him, lacing his fingers with mine. After I've looked down at our hands for a bit, I look nervously back up at him and swallow.
"Bella? What do you want to do now?" he murmurs.
I know perfectly well, although I don't want to sound too keen and desperate, so I pretend to think about it. "Uh, osculate?" I offer finally.
We're sitting facing each other and the tension is incredible. Our faces are inches apart, and as his gaze moves between my eyes and my lips, at first he's smiling, but his smile disappears as we move slowly closer to one another and I am drawing myself up on my knees to get nearer still, and he seems to lean back, but he is inviting me to get closer.
Our faces touch, so slowly, our noses, and the prominent parts of our cheeks, as we are almost nuzzling, and my lips are part as I breathe him in, tasting the scent of his open mouth, and our lips touch, very lightly. My eyes are closed; I have abandoned the sense of sight in favor of smell and taste, and touch, and even hearing, as it is quiet in the room but for the sound of our already uneven breathing.
Our mouths brush lightly together again, as we both inhale each other's scents, and exhale with sighs. I have leaned forward now, and he seems the more hesitant of us, or perhaps he is wanting me to take him, as he has already said what he wants, and I haven't.
On my knees as I am, I am actually above him, and he raises his head to me and he meets me. We are finally joined, awash with sensation as his mouth moves against mine. This sort of kissing isn't something I have ever felt before. It causes a shock all the way through me, licking along my arms like fire, and sending shooting stars curving down the insides of my legs, culminating in flashes in the insteps of my feet. I can't bear for it to end, but if it ends, we can start again. I'm cold, and I whimper when he pulls abruptly away.
"Edward?" I say, lost and wanting him back.
"Eleven seconds," he answers unsteadily, but it's not really an answer, because in his eyes is another question, asking if he can have more.
"At least," I say. "There was an unspoken 'at least' in there. You really need to give me a little longer." Right now, I'd be happy to give him eleven lifetimes. He comes back, and I'm very, very greedy and he doesn't need an instructor, because nobody on earth would dump him for the way he kisses.
This time he doesn't pull back, he rises on his knees with a hand in my hair and a hand on my hip, pushing me down into the pillow, his lips still soft, but growing more urgent. We've both forgotten to breathe, and we break apart to stare at each other.
"You can't possibly have been doing anything wrong with all those other girls," I say, heart racing.
"No?" he murmurs.
"No." I shake my head against him, and press my lips to his throat. I'm going to bite him.
"I never kissed any other girls like this, ever," he says, and gasps as he feels my teeth.
But then he is sitting up, standing up, moving to the door.
"Are you leaving?" I ask in disbelief.
"This is a girls only dorm," he reminds me. "Sleep well, beautiful Bella. How about a date next week? The Exchange? No holds barred? If either of us wins, the other has to kiss them?"
"Damn straight," I say.
.
.
.