.

"A toast, Jedediah: to love on my own terms."

- Kane

July 12, 2010

Bella

"Isabella, I don't think this is working out."

I flinch as I study Edward's face more closely. His eyes have never looked this cold, as detached and neutral as glass.

They make me feel so small.

I repeat his words in my head, an absurd amount of dread growing from just that one sentence. I'm about to ask what isn't working out, but he beats me to it.

"Us."

"But we're married," I say dumbly, as if my realization negates his sentence entirely. As if he's somehow forgotten that he promised to love me forever.

I don't understand.

Not working out?

That's what Tyler told Lauren Mallory when she threw up on him after prom. That's not what you say to your wife.

My mind runs through all the possible reasons, coming up blank.

"Is it the mess? I promise to let Sue clean our room." It's a senseless plea, but I can't stop it. I have to say something. I have to know exactly what I did wrong.

His eyes change from emotionless to pained in a matter of seconds.

"No, it's not the mess." His voice is deathly quiet.

Is he going to make me guess?

"Or is it someone...?" The thought is too painful to complete, but Edward finishes it for me.

"No," he says more firmly, emphatically. "It's nothing like that. It's just... You're not happy. I hear you crying at night..."

I open my mouth to refute the statement, only to close it again.

It's true; I'm not happy.

But I could be. It's just a phase, until I'm busier... Until...

Tears form against my will, increasing the ire I feel toward my uncontrollable emotions. He was never supposed to know that I was crying.

I've tried so hard to please him, even while I was falling apart. And all this time, I was willing to fight through the rough spots because I thought he was.

Edward is staring at me like he wants me to say something, like he wants me to deny his claim.

I want to tell him the main reason why I've been so unhappy. I want to beg and plead for him to fix it, but I can't. I won't.

I shouldn't have to ask him to spend time with me. He should want to do that all by himself.

My eyes dart around the foyer for something to settle on, finally deciding on the stupid, uncomfortable bench that he asked me to sit on. Having picked it out for its looks, I don't think we ever expected anyone to actually use it.

I feel crowded and oddly embarrassed, but I can't move. Moving means that this is real, and someday soon, at least one of us will keep moving until we're nothing.

So I sit still, memorizing the fabric pattern and diligently waiting for words I'll never hear. Nowhere else is safe for my eyes.

I can't look at his face, and I definitely can't look at the upstairs landing.

That will only remind me that there are four bedrooms up there. And we really didn't need them after all.

April 10, 2010

Bella

"I love how they include the nutritional information for the unpopped popcorn as well, as if someone will just eat the hard kernels," I observe, tossing a popped one into my mouth.

"Hey. Speak for yourself," Edward huffs playfully, reaching for the bag.

"No way."

I swat his hand away, not wanting him to hurt his teeth. Plus, that sounds really, really gross.

"I'll just suck on it," he reasons. It's disturbing that I can't figure out if he's joking.

"Eww."

"Like you haven't before."

"No, I have not," I vow, nearly offended.

He gets that annoying look on his face that says "Sure you haven't," so I give him my best scowl, trying to look really menacing.

I'd throw my popcorn at him, but it's kind of the only food we have available.

Edward smiles at my attempted angry face, seeming to have the same thought.

"I guess we should have eaten before we packed up most of the cupboards, huh?" His chagrin is even more adorable when he adds in a grin.

"If you don't want to reopen the boxes, we could eat at the diner," I offer, content to keep staring at him. "Jessica is working, and I'd like to say goodbye."

"Do you want to go now?"

I glance at my desk to check my nonexistent progress. "Maybe we can take a break after I finish emptying this."

"Sure. I'll just finish up with the kitchen," Edward says, standing up. He makes it to the door before he turns around, walking back to where I'm sitting on the floor.

"Wha-" I start to ask, stopping when he bends down to kiss my forehead.

Oh.

"I love you," he reminds me. I smile up at him, touched by his simple gesture.

"I love you, too."

I watch Edward leave, sighing before finally focusing on my task. One drawer only has papers and notebooks inside, so I simply grip the entire pile before dropping it into my box. Unfortunately, the next drawer doesn't go as quickly because it's full of tiny things I forgot I even owned.

I'm almost at the bottom of the mess when my hand retreats, recognizing the feeling of a beaded picture frame. I consider just leaving it inside, but an ever-increasing part of me is morbidly curious.

Finally telling myself that ignoring it would be childish, I carefully pick up the homemade item, peeking at the family photo inside.

The smiles on the three of us look genuine, but the picture is painful in its antiquity. Even now, it's hard to acknowledge that I'm looking at a piece of history, to admit that this family unit and these happy people no longer exist.

It was easier to pretend when I was younger. I would look at this picture, and for a few moments, I could pretend that we were all together. That my mother didn't really leave us when I was eleven.

My eyes sting as I run my fingers over the glass, not minding that I'm smudging it. Maybe I should have left it in the drawer after all.

"Isabella?"

I jump slightly, spotting Edward in the doorway when I turn my head.

He looks worried, and I have to wonder how long I've been sitting here.

"Sorry," I say as he walks closer.

I don't know what I'm apologizing for, but it seems like the right thing to do. Maybe it's for falling apart in front of him yet again.

Edward sits down and looks at the frame more closely, not seeming surprised at its contents. He wraps an arm around my shoulder, bringing me flush against his side.

"You don't have to be sorry."

He rubs my arm soothingly, giving me time to sort my thoughts. The silence is peaceful until I choose to interrupt it, dreading my own words.

"We'll have to invite her to the wedding," I mumble, still looking at the picture. "Renee has always been a 'twice a year' kind of mother. She expects some attention during any holiday or occasion worthy of a Hallmark card.

"Occasions in my life, anyway," I amend quickly. "She's never expected Mother's Day cards or anything. Thank God."

"We don't have to invite her," Edward disagrees. "You don't even have to tell her if you don't want to."

I shake my head. "No, it will be nice to have family there...maybe," I murmur, not yet fully convinced.

"When's the last time you saw her?" Edward asks hesitantly, and I can't help but cringe at the memory.

"A little over a year ago. After my dad..."

I don't want to finish, so I'm thankful when Edward gently relaxes my fingers' hold on the frame. He gingerly places it in the box, on top of all the other random things.

I'm much calmer once he lifts me onto his lap, letting me rest against his chest. Making me feel safe in that way I'm still not used to.

I let out a deep breath as Edward's hand runs up and down my back, soothing and exciting the skin all at once.

"We can create our own family," he whispers against my hair. His voice is quiet but fervent, allowing for no contradictions.

My heart warms at his words, and for a long moment, all I can think about is Edward's scent, his heartbeat. The way he makes my own heart beat double-time. For a few seconds - while I'm held close and loved and known - I let myself wonder if this is what perfect is.

All plans for the diner are forgotten when I close my eyes, the emotional and physical exhaustion of the day finally catching up to me. Edward doesn't cease his gentle movements against my back, easily lulling me to somewhere between consciousness and slumber.

I'm so relaxed that I can almost ignore the voice nagging in the back of my mind, whispering wary words as I drift:

Don't promise me anything.

A/N:

Thanks again to What The Fun.

xoxo