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not beta'd

storyline - Malicious

prompts - solitude, fortitude, magnitude

You whip around, looking vaguely surprised that I've called out to you. "What's up?"

"I just…" I falter, feeling dorky and then even dorkier for feeling dorky. "Where are you off to?"

Frowning, you lower your eyes. "I have stuff to do."

"Oh. I thought you were mad or something." There. I said it. Got the ball rolling and all that.

"What?" You chuckle, but I'm on to you now.

Sighing, I step a little closer, knowing that we're both blushing like fools. "Can you just…stop? Please?"

"Stop what?"

"When have you ever preferred solitude to a party, Edward?"

You smirk. "Never."

"So…"

"So I don't know. It gets weird sometimes."

"What does?" I want you to spit it out.

"We do."

Hearing you acknowledge "we" takes a bit of the weight off my chest. I decided to barrel ahead, because God knows I have the fortitude now and might not again. Ever.

"So let's not be weird then. Let's just say what we need to say."

"Are you quoting John Mayer?"

"No," I laugh, shoving him. And then I catch myself. Because that was a really girl move, something Rose does to Emmett constantly. "I'm just saying we should say all the stuff that's floating around up here." I point to my head. "I'm tired of pretending."

For a moment I think you're going to deflect some more, but instead you nod. "Me too."

"Okay."

"Let's go for a walk," you say, looking anywhere but at me. This bashful version of you is so foreign, but I prefer it to the brash version.

We fall in to step. It's a little chilly, but not too bad.

"What were you thinking when you woke up that day on the beach?" I blurt out.

"You mean when I looked at you?"

I nod. "It looked like you were crying."

"I think I was."

This surprises me, but it doesn't. It was an intense moment in time.

"…the last thing I remembered was my head hurting like crazy and then I was on the sand and my chest hurt really bad – "

"Erm… yeah. I hit you pretty hard."

"You sure it was all in the name of saving a life?" you tease, side-eyeing me. "I had a couple of bruises."

Staring at the sidewalk in front of us, I smile faintly. "Whatever it takes."

You don't say anything for awhile. We walk in peaceable silence, something I never, ever imagined we'd share. It's like our feud ran its course, exhausted itself, and dies. Like we ran with it for such a long time that it tired us out. I can remember everything; I just can't remember how or why it escalated the way it did. Why you acted like you hated me. I need to know.

I clear my throat. "Why – "

"When I opened my eyes you were the first thing I saw, and all I could think was 'why her?' Out of all the lifeguards on the beach, why her?"

Oddly enough, I know just what you mean.

"As if you weren't…" you trail off.

"What?" I ask.

"You've always had the upper hand. Always."

Now I'm a little confused. "Edward, I did what I did because it was the only thing to do, not so I could lord it over you later."

"Exactly."

"You've lost me."

You stop walking and turn to me. "You're light years ahead of me, Bella. You've always been excellent, not just as a swimmer, but as a person. And I resented you for it."

"But why?" I cry.

You link your hands behind your head and laugh nervously. "Because I… I've liked you since ninth grade."

My heart jolts in my chest. "Ninth grade?"

You nod.

"But…but… whenever I asked you said you didn't," I sputter.

"Come on, Bella, why put myself out there time and time again? If you weren't interested after what went down at Tyler's, you never would be."

"You kissed me because you liked me?"

"Why else? I don't hook up with girls I don't like."

Well that's news. "I don't know; I thought you were just horny."

You drop your hands. "Is that why you kissed back?"

Feeling rather sheepish – and a little slutty – I shrug. "I – I didn't, I mean, I thought you were cute. Anyway," I shake my head. "Not of that explains, or excuses, the way you let Mike frigging Newton think we had sex. And all of those rumors afterward. Do you know what it was like? People totally treated me different for a few weeks. It sucked."

"I know," you whisper, eyes downcast. "I'm sorry."

"You keep saying that, but do you even know why?"

"I guess at the time it made me feel better, like if I had to be miserable than I liked that you were too."

I start walking again, slowly. "This doesn't really build your case of how sorry you are."

"Bella, I'm sorry now. But at the time I was just… pissed off."

"Maybe if you'd told me how you really felt I'd have given you a chance. I'm not a mind reader, you know. You can't make out with me in some guy's bathroom and view that as your declaration," I say. "And then afterwards…ugh. I don't know."

"I know. You're right."

"And sometimes it upsets me that the only reason you're being decent to me now is because I saved you. Like it took something of that magnitude for you to change."

"Maybe it did. I owe you for my life, but also for the wakeup call. You have no idea what it's like. You hear about people having second chances and all that bull, but it's completely true. I can't take things for granted anymore, and I can't waste time." You speak fast and sure, words rushing out of your mouth like water down a river. "I can't take back last year."

You grab my hand. My stomach flip-flops; I can't quite look at you because the last time we touched romantically we did a lot more than just hold hands. When I don't pull away, though, you slide your fingers through mine. It feels foreign. It feels good.

"Does it matter why? Is one reason better than the other?" you ask all earnest now.

"I guess not," I say, sneaking glances at our hands. "I just wish I wasn't always the one to speak up, I guess."

"I kissed you. I got you off. And I asked you – twice – if you liked me. What else did you want me to do?"

"Guess I never really looked at it that way. You're a good actor, you know."

"I'm not acting now," you say, squeezing my hand.

"Remember the time you threw M&Ms at Peter?" I snort, needing to lighten the moment. "Idiot."

You laugh. "Yeah, Irina wouldn't talk to me for like a week afterwards."

"Is that what her name is?"

"Yeah."

We walk to the end of the block and turn around, retracing our steps to Emmett's.

"Bella?"

I have a feeling I know what's coming, so I try to stay calm. This whole situation is weird and alternate universe-ish, but I'm tired of pretending not to feel things simply because they're inconvenient. I don't want to hang on to old hurts, and my pride, and preconceived notions and grudges and crappy memories.

The realization hits me hard. I just want you to love me.

I look up at you. "What?"

"Do you like me?"

You look so hopeful, but so like you're trying to be cool, too, that I have to smile. Because when it comes down to it, I'm just as nervous as you are.

"Yes. I do."

aha! no more emotional constipation for these too. yeah.

i love writing teenagers and i loved my teen years but let me tell you... i'm glad i'm past such malarkey.

anyway, much love! tank you for continuing to read this. xoxoxo