"Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love? Can the child within my heart rise above? And can I sail through the changing ocean tides? Can I handle the seasons of my life? Oh oh I don't know, oh I don't know.
Well, I've been afraid of changing, 'cause I've built my life around you. But time makes you bolder, even children get older and I'm getting older too"
-Landslide, Fleetwood Mac
...
Chapter Fifteen:
Tap. Tap. Tap
The sound of my pencil hitting the chipped and stained wood of my hand-me-down desk filled the air with each sharp connection it made with the edge. I had been sitting here looking out my open window since I sat down fifteen minutes ago. One knee was pulled up against my chest, while the other dangled limply from the tall pink cushion arm chair that my Grandma Swan used to sit in sewing fine needle point phrases such as "Home is Where the Heart is" into linen pillow cases.
Mike had left just a short while before I had sat down, promising that he would be back with lunch after a short visit to the office. He pulled me close to him, his fingers lingering underneath my chin, pulling my gaze up towards his sea blue eyes, not giving me room to hide from his intense stare.
"Don't go anywhere while I'm gone. Okay?"
I could only give him an obedient nod and swallow back the acid like words that burned up my throat and longed to come out of my mouth, scolding him for making me feel like a weak little girl.
Why were men always placing themselves next to me only to tower over my small form like it was their job?
It always made me remember plain, poor, and little Jane Eyre who stood next to her aggressor, her love, and her superior only to tell him that she was human too. That no matter how small her size or how miniscule her pockets, she could not be caged by a man who wished to play her like a harp, even when his intentions seemed pure.
"I am no bird; and no net ensnares me: I am a free human being with an independent will." The words came out of my mouth, sounding haunting and yet fleeting, as they seemed to fall out of the window and disappear as soon as I had spoken them. They were too heavy in the hot air around me to linger.
A phrase memorized after years and years of rereading my weathered copy of Charlotte Bronte's most famous work. The line had call to me even as a young girl, not quite sure how to be a women yet, but feeling too awkward and aged to be a girl anymore. The beautiful sentence was written across several pages of the novel that I could see sitting on the shelf, next to my desk. If I were to pick it up now I would find the page highlighted, marked, and thoroughly sketched with faded colored flowers, harsh black swirls, and that one sentence as the center of attention.
I sighed deeply; fidgeting in my chair, uncomfortable in the sticky humidity that had filled my small bedroom in the time that the sun had fully risen in the sky, surprising me by pushing past the dark grey clouds that had lingered in the morning hours. I had grown agitated by the sound of the air conditioning that rattled constantly in the vents and flung open every window in my apartment, hoping that the fresh air would help unwind my tangled thoughts that still remained after yesterday's chaotic events.
I could feel the sweat form on the nape of my neck, where a few wisps of hair had escaped my messy pile tied haphazardly to the top of my head and where now matted to the damp skin there. The white muslin sundress that I had thrown on, determining it was the lightest piece of clothing that hung in my closet, clung to my skin. A bead of perspiration dripped between my small breasts, which were confined in a thin, lacy white bralette, that I didn't even know I owned until I was scouring through my underwear drawer looking for something, anything that didn't have wires or padding.
My skin was flushed and sensitive to the touch, and once again I moved uneasily against the velvet covering of the armchair in which I sat. It scratched against the skin of my thigh in the most bittersweet sensation. I dropped my pencil and dipped my fingers into the V-neck of the dress, wiping the drop of sweat from its place there and shuddering at the dull ache that seemed to pound against my plain white underwear that was hidden beneath the thin fabric that lay limply around my figure.
In the heat of the day my flesh was alive and I was suddenly frustrated both mentally and physically. My mind longed for peace and quite that it didn't know how to achieve, but my body…my body could still feel where Mike had been just an hour before. It longed to be pulled and moved, pushed and dragged.
I bit into my lip harshly, removing my hand from its place on my skin and finally looking back to the typewriter in front of me and the unfinished sentence that mocked me in black and white.
I only let my eyes linger there for a moment before I moved my arm across the desk and checked my cellphone for the tenth time in the short period in which I had been seated in this statuesque position. I was waiting for Charlotte to call me back. I had called at least a dozen times, only to get her voice message each and every time. I left only one brief message myself after the first call, but I knew that she would see the others that had gone unanswered. I also knew in the pit of my gut that she would not be calling me back, no matter how many times I tried to reach her; it didn't stop me from tapping my screen every sixty seconds.
After the strange and emotional events of yesterday and this morning, I finally went searching for my cellphone which had been abandoned from my thoughts until Mike had fallen asleep, sated and sweaty, tangled in my bed sheets. I went searching for it on tiptoes, avoiding the creaky floorboards as best as I could. I found my phone tucked safely away in my purse, which had been hidden in the closet in my hallway for some odd reason that I could only attribute to Michael wanting to keep it out of my immediate sight for as long as possible.
My textbox was full with dozens of short messages of concern from friends and family, but I quickly deleted them with no more than a glance to their pity filled sentences before moving back into my bedroom to call Leah. I had no desire to end up back under lock and key with my wedding just days away. I would suck it up, grin and bear it, and call Leah as per her instructions…or should I call them conditions?
It was only after I had ended my troubling phone call with her that I crawled into my bathtub, an old security blanket of mine from my long ago childhood, and went through my voicemail.
One from Alice that I immediately deleted upon hearing the words, "Edward", "psychological evaluation" and the phrase, "everything will be okay Bella".
Two were from my mother; in hysterics over being the last to know that 'her baby' was in the hospital, followed by a quick inquiry as to whether I had found the pink abomination of a dress or not, and ended with her promising to keep calling if she didn't receive some assurance that the wedding was still on for Saturday.
I sighed loudly, knowing that I would have to face my mother one of these days and tell her that she was an overbearing maternal figure who longed for more reassurance about her own life problems than she did about her daughter's, but today was not that day.
A few more were from my father, Jasper, and Emmett all with similar sounding fatherly messages, and I was half surprised not to hear an additional one from Carlisle. My bitter feelings towards him still radiated through my chest and down towards my toes.
Finally the most recent and most brief of the bunch was from Charlotte. All she said was, "You're vacation starts immediately, I'll see you at the wedding."
I wanted to scream even know, staring at the my stupid phone in it's plain blue and white polka dotted case. I was sitting here staring at this fucking typewriter when I could be at my desk hundreds of feet above the pedestrians below, working on the pile of half finished pieces that I had planned on completing before I officially went on my honeymoon.
"Fuck you." I spat out at the paper that flapped in the breeze that did little to douse my enflamed skin.
I tried looking anywhere but at my beautiful teal and orange typewriter, and consequently my eyes fell to the discarded drawing tablet that I had pushed off my lap in the early hours of the morning yesterday and had never bothered to retrieve. It was half hidden underneath the armchair in the corner of the room, its pages open but shadowed from view underneath the chair.
I rose from my spot, my muscles sighing in relief from the uncomfortable position I had had them tangled in as I sat at the desk, unwilling to move and relieve the pressure against my joints. I moved cautiously towards the chair, dropping to my knees and letting the muslin fan out around my as I finally came close enough to reach underneath into the shadows and grasping at the hand made hem cover before bringing it into the sunshine. I cradled it in my arms like a mother would her baby, before falling back into the chair pulled up to my desk. I let the book fall open on its own accord.
I stared at the small sketch that was on the open page, not entirely surprised to find what existed there, yet still taken back by the intensity in which I had captured the likeness of the subject. I carefully reached out and traced the lines of his jaw, the curve of his cheek and the sharp laugh lines that I had placed perfectly at the corner of his eyes.
My gaze drifted lower and every breath escaped my chest, leaving me empty and longing. My initials and the date of a time long ago were smudged into the far right hand corner, but it was what had been written in faded red ink, in my loopy penmanship that had taken every bit of oxygen from my lungs.
I read the words, even letting them fall soundlessly from my lips before I darted my eyes back up towards the page where they also sat, mirroring each other in perfect harmony. The same words written by the same person sat before each other for the first time, worlds apart.
"You are the light that shines through my soul, weighted down so deep in the musk of darkness, a light that I always knew existed but never thought could clear the webs…"
I gasped, my hand flying to my lips as my eyes clouded over in tears brought on by a long suppressed memory…
Nine Years Ago
I looked down at my schedule one last time as it sat in my locker; my head pushed slightly into the dark confined space that smelled distinctly of metal and freshly sharpened pencils. I traced my fingers over the already crumpled piece of paper that I had only been handed barely an hour ago when I entered homeroom, wearing my first day of school outfit and already feeling once again out of place as I found myself wedged between Lauren Reynolds who seems to have grown another cup size since I saw her in the spring and Garrett Lenny who I could hear whispering into her ear the dirty things he wanted to do to her when he got her home after school.
I was right on the cusp of turning sixteen, one of the oldest in my class, and yet I still felt like the little girl who everyone looked down on and poked fun of in gym class when her chicken legs were on display for everyone to see. I was nearly sixteen and I barely could fill out my A cup training bra, I had never been kissed, and was still trying to figure out how to look at a boy without flushing over like a tomato.
And to start the year off on another wrong foot, Charlie had be enrolled in every advanced placement class that the small Forks High had to offer. That meant I just spent last period sitting in an upper level literature class with twenty juniors and seniors who seemed to dwarf over me like I was a five year old sitting at the grownup's table. And I was off to do it all over again in my AP Biology class.
I took a deep breathe of that pungent locker smell before slamming it shut just a little too harshly and began making my way to the science wing on the second floor.
I entered the classroom with my head down, focusing my vision to the floor tiles and hoping not to run into anyone. Mr. Banner greeted me warmly, and for the first time all day I managed a smile, relishing in the fact that he was one of my favorite teachers in the school. However, that small silver lining was short lived once he pointed me towards the assigned seating chart he had on his desk. I tried to swallow back the terrible taste that suddenly was overpowering my mouth and scanned the chart for my name.
My finger ran over 'Isabella Swan' just once before it moved over the name that had been spelled out right next to my own…'Edward Cullen'.
"Oh my god."
"Is everything okay Bella?" Mr. Banner came up behind me, no doubt having heard my small comment and I instantly flushed my signature tomato red.
"Everything is fine Mr. Banner, just excited to start the New Year." I must have forced the smile onto my face just a little to punitively, because I didn't seem to convince him enough for the concern to leave his eyes. The embarrassment of standing in front of the classroom, being confronted by my science teacher outweighed the dread of facing my lab partner and I quickly brushed passed Mr. Banner, hoping that he wouldn't continue on with the topic at hand.
I only made it half way to the back of the room before I was force to look up from the floor tiles and find my seat.
He was already there, seated right next to the aisle, his elbow on the table supporting the hand that he had resting against the side of his face. He was clad in a pair of jeans that I could see from where his long athletic legs stuck out from under the slate science table, his feet covered in a pair of worn converse sneakers, much like the white ones I wore now. His blue plaid shirt had a way of looking both stylish and vintage, paired over an old band t-shirt that I didn't dare spend enough time scrutinizing to be able to read.
When I finally met his eyes I thought I would pass out standing right in the middle of the biology room. It was obvious that he had been watching me as I made my way towards our back table, the last in a long row. His green eyes pierced through my dull brown one's, looking amused at what he saw before him, a small smile playing on his full, pink lips. I blushed again and turned my gaze back towards my stack of books that I had clutched to my chest as if they were the last things holding me together.
I took my seat next to the window and began to organize my books, binder, and many pencils and pens in a way that would keep my attention from faltering towards my right side where the boy of my childhood fantasies was sitting, staring at me. I could feel his eyes moving over me like hot coals on a fire. They ignited my skin and I suddenly was overly aware of where the white eyelet dress, one my mother had sent from Florida for me to wear on the first day of my sophomore year, fell on my thighs, exposing my scrawny legs for all to see. I pulled the maroon cardigan closer to my chest.
"You are the light that shines through my soul, weighted down so deep in the musk of darkness, a light that I always knew existed but never thought could clear the webs…?" His voice came from beside me; breaking the wall of silence I had built up between us.
I twisted my head warily to meet his gaze, his eyes meeting mine in a stare so alive and passionate that I forgot where I was for a moment. It had been a while since I had last been this close to him. I mean, I had basically grown up with Edward Cullen sitting right next to me, but this was different. He wasn't a little, lost looking boy anymore, he was a fully grown man whose hair fell into his eyes and stuck up in every which direction. One who had muscles that I could see defined underneath the flannel shirt he wore. The ghost my mother had explained to me once seemed to have disappeared completely from behind his gaze, leaving only green pools of zeal behind.
"Um…what?" I finally managed to sputter out after an inappropriately long amount of time of me just staring at him.
"Lyrics Bella," he smiled down at me, his cheeks turning their own light shade of pink as he turned away for a moment so he could fumble through his backpack that sat on the floor next to him. He pulled a piece of paper from its hiding place there and pushed it over to me.
It was a sheet of composition paper that had been filled with pencil marks of notes and rests. The words he had spoken to me moments before were written underneath the many bars of music. I could tell they had been written and erased many time, especially near the end where he had yet to finish the line.
"You're composing?" It was a stupid question. Edward had been composing since he was old enough to reach the peddles of the baby grand piano that sat in the Cullen household.
"Does that really surprise you Bella?" I was taken back by the way he kept saying my name. That was the second time he had put those two syllables together and pushed them off his tongue like they were water to his dry mouth. I met his gaze again and I shook my head, not trusting my voice to say anything in his presence at the moment. "I have a band, and we're supposed to be playing our first gig at this place up in Port Angeles. We do mostly covers," he ran his hands through his thick, tangled hair suddenly looking sheepish, "but I really wanted to try and write something we could call our own."
"Um…" My mouth was hanging open as I took in the man before me. Was this all really happening? Was the boy I used to stand behind armchairs spying on as he practiced his scales really asking me for my opinion?
"I know you like to write." His eyes suddenly flew to mine like he had said something he shouldn't have. "You still write don't you?"
I was at a loss for words. A writer, dissolved to nothing at the mere sight of a boy. I could almost see Betty Friedan scolding me from wherever she was.
I must have been giving him just as strange of a look as how I felt conversing with him, in the back of the Biology room. The whole world seemed to have stopped around us.
"I just thought that if I could get the music right, you could give me your two sense about the lyrics."
I finally tore my eyes from his brilliant green orbs and looked back down at the words he already had written out.
"You are the light that shines through my soul, weighted down so deep in the musk of darkness, a light that I always knew existed but never thought could clear the webs..." I said the words out loud for both of us to take in. I furrowed my eyebrows together, putting my writers mind into action as I said the words over and over again in my head.
He broke me from my mental process by nudging my elbow that had been resting on the table next to his own. I hadn't even realized that Mr. Banner had begun class until Edward was whispering to me, so close to my ear that I could feel his breath caress my skin, leaving a trial of goose bumps down my arms.
"So what do you think?"
I took a deep breath, smelling only his manly musk and spearmint scent in the air around me. I could taste it on my tongue as I opened my mouth to speak.
"Sometimes when I'm writing I jot ideas and phrases like this down on a piece of paper and try to figure out how to change it or finish it so it's a complete thought." When I look at him, I see that he is only focused on what I have to say about the piece in front of me, and I can't help but notice when his eyes linger down towards my lips. "But, when I read them out loud I realize that some thoughts aren't supposed to be complete. Some emotions can't be conveyed in one neat and tidy sentence. You're lyrics are a marinade of complexities that can't be completed."
I push the paper back towards him, eyeing Mr. Banner as he began to walk around the room distributing syllabi to the class.
"So you're saying it's okay the way it is?" He was leaning in so close now that all I would have to do is scoot forwards just a foot and I would be able to press my lips to his own.
"It's perfect," I whispered back.
Ding!
My typewriter made that magnificent sound just as I finished typing the last words into the final sentence that left the once empty page filled from top to bottom.
I don't know why I had forgotten that moment so readily in my mind. However, all it took was that sketch to bring it all tumbling back into view. I could distinctly remember coming home after that first day of school to the house I was so used to occupying by myself when Charlie was on duty, running into my room to grab the sketch book Renee and Phil had bought me last summer when they got married on the beach in Mexico. I always like to think of it as my constellation prize for getting a new dad and living my life without a present mother, although I would never say such a thing out loud.
I flipped open the first empty page I came to, passing over several colorful drawings of flowers, forests, and the odd person I created up in my mind. Today however, I had a clear picture of what, or whom I was going to sketch into these pages.
The lines and curves came easier than anything that I had ever drawn in the past. If writing was my passion, the thing that came as naturally as breathing, then drawing was more of a favorite pastime of mine, something that I liked to do when my fingers weren't busy scrawling out a new idea for a poem or a short story. I had quite the talent for charcoals, something that I kept as my little secret until Charlie happened to stumble upon some of my work when he was taking out the garbage one day. The very next day, I came home to find my desk piled high was new pencils, fresh sketchbooks, and even one of those wooden figurines you could twist and move to capture your subject's position just right. He was always encouraging something that allowed me to express the emotions I bottled up inside of me.
He knew all too well how much a person was capable of holding within them.
It was the first picture I had ever drawn of Edward, the first time that I had set his eyes, his jaw and even his full lips to something more than memory. When there was no more room left on the page and I had smudged the last harsh line from his face, I couldn't help but grab a red colored pencil and write out those hauntingly beautiful lyrics he spoke to me.
It was the beginning. The start to just one of many days in biology spent growing closer and closer together, just one of many sketches that I would complete of his devastatingly beautiful features.
I flipped through the next few pages just to find more and more drawing of a similar subject, always done in those grey tones of charcoal.
My skin pulsed as I look at a seventeen year old Edward sketched into the paper and then quickly flipped to the back of the book where my most recent portrayal screamed out at me. It was obvious that he had aged between the two portraits…my first and my last. I could feel the perspiration falling back down my chest and I took a deep breath of the stuffy air that seemed to sit in a cloud above my head.
I slammed the book shut, ripped the finally finished paper from is place dangling off the typewriter and shoved them both into the top drawer of my worn desk. Out of sight out of mind…
What a load of bullshit.
No sooner then when I click the drawer closed, trying to tell myself that if I kept the offending materials out of my view that they would vanish like Alice into Wonderland, there was an unexpected heavy and loud knock coming from my front door.
I nearly jumped out of my seat at the abrupt sound that pierced through the quiet of the apartment.
I had to nearly peel my thighs from the velvet of the armchair before I could get up and make my way through the living room and to the front door. I was feeling so sticky and exasperated by the now fully typed page, the sketchbook and the violent memory that had just come crashing down around me, that I didn't even bother to check the peephole but rather simply threw open the front door revealing the knocker.
I felt an overwhelming sense of déjà vu wash over me as Edward Cullen was revealed to be the owner of the powerful knock.
A/N: I don't know if Landslide fit this chapter very well, but I love that song and I just happened to find myself listening to it on repeat as I wrote this chapter.
I received several reviews for the last chapter and I absolutely love how involved you all are, especially when it comes to expressing your views about who Bella should end up with. Keep the comments coming, I love to hear from you all!
Until next time,
F.