Hey! I'm back and that's all thanks to my new Beta Dina (TwiDi), she is so dilligent and awesome. Thank you Dina.

I hope you are not disappointed with all the time I was away from this story, but I got in to school to study my master degree and let me tell you, those bastards from school are relentless. Anyway, let's continue with EB.

Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to Stephanie Meyer.

CHAPTER 4: PROPER MANNERISMS

My shift was boring. And since she wasn't there, my routines were the same. I kept in mind that during the day, my life needed to be the same with my routines and neurosis. But by night… she owned me. I didn't exactly know how I got here, or how I started to be so obsessed with her. Maybe it was physical; her small form, her hair, those eyes; or maybe it was the way she always was. The way she interpreted my behavior and how she could read me or maybe it just was inexplicable—for me at least. It didn't really matter any more. I was really an emotional train-wreck. From the inside, I was a wreck that couldn't stand this inability, and on the outside, I was certainly what Bella had told me the first time she saw me; A robot.

By 8:34 p.m. I was at her front door. I knocked twice. Then I heard a lot of noise of things falling. She opened the door with a blush on her face and sweat on her forehead.

"Come in, I was doing the dishes." She didn't look at me.

I entered her apartment and looked around. Everything was so neat and perfectly arranged; she had a bookshelf, and I noticed unfortunately that her books weren't arranged in the proper order—At least not like mine were, anyway.

"Hey, I'm going to make some dinner. Spaghetti ala Bolognese. Is that ok?"

"Yeah, it's fine. Thanks," I said while I stood in the living room looking around and just absorbing... her space.

"No problem," she said. Then she went to the kitchen through a double door.

Her apartment was big, but cozy. I could see three doors; and in front of the door was the table, by the door on the left was the living room. And she had these beautiful French doors in front of the dinning table. I stepped back and took another look on her bookshelf. I started taking books out and putting them on the floor. I rearranged half of the books, in less than 30 minutes, by alphabetical order; authors, genre and size. Just like mine were organized.

"What are you doing?" I turned around and she was standing at the dinning table with a casserole—which she put down when she asked me. I looked around and saw myself in the middle of piles of books. Ashamed, I just shrugged my shoulders and responded the best I could.

"I'm rearranging your books."

"Why?"

"Because I had to." And with that, she just raised an eyebrow and kept preparing the dinner table. When she finished, she sat and I could see in my peripheral vision that she was staring at me.

"Hey, the dinner is served. Won't you eat?"

"I... I need to finish this." I emphasized on the 'need' part because I really did need it. I couldn't eat knowing that all that shit was not in proper order.

"But it's gonna get cold... the sauce."

"That's fine, I like cold sauce," I said, because it was true.

"Ok, if your sauce gets the flu, It's not going to be my fault."

"That's fine," I said.

"Let me just tell you that this behavior of yours is weird. But, if that were what makes you the genius—that I think you are—then I don't fucking care really." I didn't respond. She just ate quietly, looking at me.

I was done, after twenty minutes, just as she also was done with her food. I went to the table and sat down, my food cold, just how she told me it would be.

"I can reheat it for you, if you want me to?"

"No, that's fine, I'm ok."

"As you wish. I'm planning to make strawberries with whipped cream, if you like? You know, for dessert…"

"No, thank you. This is enough."

"Fine," she said, with a tone that I couldn't figure.

She went to the kitchen and came back five minutes later with a cup, which I supposed were the strawberries. She started eating and talking about trivial things; like her house and how much the rent cost. She talked about her neighbors, the rules of the apartment; like not being allowed to have dogs or cats—and she said that she'd always loved cats. But I was only concentrating on the food smudging her mouth, which was disgusting. She spoke and spoke with her mouth full of food; and I just started to freak out. I guess that this is how you lose your affection for somebody. These little things—noticing these little details—but really, I couldn't suppress what I felt about Bella. I didn't care if a fucking cow was being mutilated in her mouth as long as she was there. I was utterly lost. I accepted most of these things—most of the horrible manners she had—because she didn't care either. She was amazingly random.

"Ok. Time to work. So, I was planning on practicing on some online poker games." Online Poker wasn't my best choice, but I did it any way. She took her laptop and placed it on the table and sat beside me, really close, then leaned her body so the two of us were watching the screen. I was literally sweating like a pig.

"Look, it's really easy. Have you…? Never mind. I know you don't…"

"What?" I interrupted.

"Play online? I guess you don't. You are a prude."

"Prude? I don't know what you mean. But, no, I haven't played online," I said, surprised by her use of adjective.

"Yes, the orthodox players never play online. They think that it's not the same."

"And you think it is?"

"No. I think it's useful for practice, but not for winning money."

"Ok. So we are not going to bet?"

"We need to bet, Edward," she told me in that new tone of hers.

"How much?"

"A couple of hundreds. Don't worry, it's on me."

The mechanism was really simple. You login, then enter a room and choose a player or a computer—we chose a player—then the game starts.

"It's really easy," I said.

"Yes, it is. This is easy. Playing in front of people, however, with actual real people, is the hard thing. You know… the bluff?"

"You mean reading people is the hard thing?" Tell me about it.

"Yes, it is. That and to concentrate in your game at the same time and predict what the other players have or will do." We kept playing. She let me play without instructions; my guess was that she was testing me. And because I was winning, suddenly, we received an invitation for a bigger bet from another gambler.

"We need to accept," she said.

"Why?" She looked at me and I was lost. Was she mad at me?

"Just do it." I clicked on the button and the game started. The bet was for a thousand dollars. I looked at her waiting for her response.

"Sweet! You can win Edward, just do your thing." I turned to the screen again and made my moves. After three passes I won.

She was bouncing in her seat and smiling. I looked at her, not knowing what just happened. She was hugging me and she even kissed my cheek. She was happy… I guess? But, why? I just sat there not reacting and silent. No… nothing.

"We just won a thousand Dollars! And you have that face?"

"What face?" I said, really scared. I was doing something wrong? Did she notice that I was a retard?

"That not-happy face."

"I don't know what you are talking about?" I said turning my face to the other side, so she won't see me.

"You are so weird. Or maybe actually, you give shit about money."

"I don't care about the money."

"Well, duh! That explains a lot of things. I do care. So, I'm superficial like that."

"I don't think you are superficial, Bella."

"Look, Edward, I know what I am. You don't need to be polite with me."

"Ok." I didn't understand her. I mean, I didn't understand anybody, but she was really difficult to read; more than anybody else. And that was both frustrating and exhilarating.

"Ok. So, a break? I need to plan with you our trip."

"What trip?" I asked, surprised.

"In two weeks, in Atlantic city there's going to be a Blackjack tournament. It's really minor, but it's perfect for you to practice."

"I don't need to practice."

"Yes, you do. Playing in front of hundreds needs practice."

"I don't know if I can travel. My work?"

"It's on Sunday. You work on Sundays?"

"No… only Mondays to Saturdays."

"Excellent!" she said, clapping her hands.

"We will return the same day?"

"Yes. Don't worry about the accommodations. My… Dad is going to pay for it."

"Accommodations? Like hotel and plain tickets?"

"Yes. My Dad has a… job with the FBI. And, unfortunately, he always sends me with bodyguards when I travel. He had received some threatening letters about me and you know… I made a deal with him, so bodyguards…"

"You are in danger?" I said with a pain in my chest.

"Not precisely. It's only routine. Look if bodyguards make you uncomfortable, you can take another seat in the plane away from us, or stay in another hotel."

"No! That's fine. I don't care. I just… I didn't know… actually, I don't know anything about you."

"There's nothing to know about me. I'm an only child. My mother died of cancer when I was ten. And my Dad is a bastard. I have daddy issues; and I'm the black sheep of the family. I like to gamble and I've lost a lot of money. I mean, a lot. I'd been to rehab, but really that didn't work for me." I was stunned.

I knew that what she was telling me was important, but I was just too scared; and I didn't know what to say. I started to feel the panic rising in me.

"I need to go to the bathroom." She looked at me, opened her mouth and then closed it. And with her finger, she pointed to a door. I saw a door in the end of the living room and I walked towards it.

When I came back, she was writing something on a sheet of paper on the table.

"So, for the trip," she said, without looking at me.

"I need your name—full name—for the tickets and…" she stopped and then breathed deeply.

"Be right back." She stood up and walked away—and I couldn't see her face. I waited. And, in the mean time, I looked at what she was writing.

"Proper mannerism… robot… facial expressions… lack of understanding? Jackass?" I couldn't understand the meaning of those random words. She came back with her hair wet and her eyes a little bit puffy. Maybe she wasn't sleeping, or maybe was tired for being awake up late.

"You look tired."

"You think?" Her tone was different. She was different.

"I was reading what you wrote." She suddenly rushed to the table and took the paper out of my hands.

"That's personal! Those are my notes for poker and—"

"Robot? What does that have to do with poker?"

"Look, I know my thing, ok? You just… stay away from my notes. Besides, I need to teach you one or two things about facial expressions with poker."

"So, you think I'm a robot?" She looked at me with those wide brown eyes, almost like a cartoon.

"No! Well, yeah! But I didn't write that thinking of you! I wrote that because it's how you need to be in the poker table."

"You told me the first time you saw me that I was a robot."

"Really? I don't remember. I don't remember that at all. But it's true. You are; and it's not a bad thing." That made me feel better because I thought that she was mad at me for being all quiet and emotionless.

"So, it's good?"

"For poker."

"Ok, so I'm good for poker?"

"Not precisely. Maybe you are good with bluffing. Maybe I need to see you doing it first. But I think that you are awful in reading facial expressions." Oh she didn't know how right she was.

"I think I have troubles like everybody else."

"Yeah, well, let's see about that. Do you know what are the proper mannerisms for poker?"

"No."

"Let me teach you." She explained to me how to read tics and eye movements when the players used sunglasses and when they were bluffing. Or when they were really good and didn't give any clues. She taught me really valuable things that I converted them to symbols, so my brain wasn't overwhelmed with all that information.

"So, what do you think?"

I had my opinion on that, but I didn't say it.

"Really interesting." Meaning: I think that Symbolic Logic can eliminate all that complicated and useless emotions that darkened the human language. It's easier to explain something with symbols than with language.

"So, you got it? Or you have questions?"

"I think I got it, but I don't know if I can do it. Actually doing it sounds complicated."

"It's because it is complicated; and needs practice. I will teach you soon, not now though. I'm tired, maybe tomorrow?" She was trying to tell me to go home? Or was it my imagination?

"Oh, it's late? I should go."

"Yeah, you should go."

I stood up and she walked me to the door.

"So, tomorrow at 8:30? With dinner remember."

"Yeah, thanks for the dinner again."

"No problem." She was different. Her voice. Her tone. Her face was different. I did something, but what? I was dying—I needed to fix that, but I didn't even know what I did. Maybe because I wasn't happy with the money thing? Maybe because I just disappeared in the bathroom after she told me about her life? Maybe everything! I was so frustrated.

"Bella?" I didn't know what to say, so I just looked at her, trying to communicate my regrets.

"Yes?"

"Goodnight, sleep well."

"Yeah, you too." And then she smiled; and I did too.

When I got home, my mind was working double trying to know what I did to her. This impotence. This frustration was doing horrible things in my life. She was becoming the worst kind of obsession; and at the same time was the most exciting thing. I knew that I needed to win her in someway, but how?

AN:

Chapter 5 is done , it just need corrections, I'll post it as soon as I can.

Reviews are nice :D.

Eve