Author's Note: I kind of want to make out with my betas, mac and Jess.
Facebook Status: Going offline for a little while.
Charlie didn't give a fuck that I was hungover. He made me drag my sick, sorry ass to school because I'd missed enough of my classes already due to my pilgrimage to confront Renee in Phoenix. Plus, Charlie and I totally had to go back there on Friday to swear out a complaint against Phil. In a way, I welcomed my depression over Edward; it took my mind off the Herculean task of reliving my nightmares on paper, confessing my sins to the good cops of Maricopa County.
I mean, could four years of hell be summarized and itemized neatly on a spreadsheet? It felt like my rape would be undergoing an audit or some shit. I guess there really were bureaucrats for everything.
Back on the other side of sanity, I almost found the minutia of Forks High comforting, even though true hell lurked somewhere inside the innocuous building.
You know, the banality of evil and all that.
Of course, English class was a nightmare with Alice and her plastic-titted bimbos at her flanks making sure to remind me about what a loser I was.
"You're a loser," she hissed predictably.
"Yes," I agreed. "True-fucking-fax."
"Oh my god, she just admitted she's a loser." Tanya giggled.
"Yep . . . looks like you'll need some new material to torture me with."
Ask and ye shall receive...
"Would you like to come over tonight, Lauren? Edward mentioned I should ask you to dinner. My mother's making mushroom ravioli."
My stomach dropped to my feet. I guess I should have expected he'd move on. That was pretty fucking fast though.
"Bella?" the teacher called before I could become properly emo.
"Present," I replied distractedly.
"Yes, thank you for confirming that for a second time this morning. Have you prepared your reading?"
My fucking what? "Uh . . ."
"Your presentation?" she prompted. "The reading assignment . . . and not Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, thank you very much."
"Oh. Yeah. How about Shakespeare?" It was cheap of me to do it, but I had a litany of soliloquies and sonnets memorized already. "I'd like to present a reading from Othello."
"The Moor of Athens." She smiled.
Venice, you turd!
"Any day now, Bella." She tapped her fingers on her desk, her nails echoing like bullets.
On shaking legs I stood and walked to the front of the room. "Um . . . so, this is act four, scene three from Othello. Emilia's speech." I licked my chapped lips and took a deep breath, trying to chase the warble from my voice.
"Let husbands know their wives have sense like them: they see and smell and have their palates both for sweet and sour, as husbands have. What is it that they do when they change us for others? Is it sport? I think it is: and doth affection breed it? I think it doth: is't frailty that thus errs? It is so too: and have not we affections, desires for sport, and frailty, as men have? Then let them use us well: else let them know, the ills we do, their ills instruct us so."
I stopped speaking, my chest heaving with rage. "In case you're wondering what all of them purty words mean," I spat, glaring directly at Lauren, "the speech is about how men suck. They're weak fucktards who expect us to be all sweet and doting. But you know what? Women suck too. Women suck because men are fucktards. It's a vicious circle, really."
"Bella!" the teacher snapped. It occurred to me I still had no idea what her name was.
"Yes?"
"Don't use that language in my classroom."
"Shakespearean?"
-({})-
This just pure sucked. I managed to make it through my morning classes without seeing Edward, but I didn't know how long my luck would hold out. My stomach felt like a mess of acid, my nerves frayed to feathers as I traversed the muddy lawn that led to the cafeteria. I stood outside the doors, sighing deeply because there was no way in fuck I could go in.
"Hey," a soft voice spoke behind me. I turned around and was met with Rosalie's raccoon eyes.
"'Sup."
"Where the fuck have you been?"
I sighed heavily, feeling brash and overly pragmatic. "I went to Phoenix to confront my mother and the man who raped me habitually for four years . . . her husband." I watched her face, waiting for my unceremonious confession to coax some sort of reaction out of her, but her eyes betrayed no emotion . . . not even surprise.
"I'm so sorry, Bella," she said calmly, taking my hand. "Do you want to talk?"
"You wouldn't understand," I replied coldly, trying to pull my away.
"Yes." She squeezed my fingers. "Yes, I would."
I'd been so blinded by my own pain I neglected to open my eyes to what was right in front of me.
"I do . . . I really, really do want to talk, Rose. I just can't have this conversation today though." I pulled her into my arms, hugging her awkwardly.
"It's okay. We can talk when you're ready . . . or not." She pulled away from me and chewed her lip thoughtfully. "You're not alone, though. We're members of one of the biggest clubs in the world, a club no one wants to admit to having joined."
"I never even paid my membership dues."
"Yeah, you have," she said sadly.
-({})-
I took my lunch behind the school since it wasn't raining, and I felt all pathetic and shit. I just couldn't fathom sitting in a crowded lunchroom. It was ridiculous, but I couldn't face Edward. In a town like Forks and a school of only three-hundred students, trying to avoid him was pretty futile . . . especially since I stumbled upon him in the very place I went to evade him.
He sat on the grass, leaning against an oak tree in a Johnny Depp sort of way. Not Pirates of the Caribbean Depp, just kind of like late-eighties Depp: brooding and sexy. Actually, he didn't look at all like Johnny.
He looked like Edward, and I wanted to die.
"Bella?" he said in a surprised voice.
"Shit," I muttered and promptly burst into tears.
Edward gawked at me through exhausted, bruised-looking eyes and said, "No, baby. Stop." He stood up quickly, opening his jacket and pulling me inside before wrapping it, and his arms, around me. "Don't cry."
But I couldn't stop the hysterics from pouring out of me, my emotions fizzing and exploding like soda from a shaken bottle. I'd held in too much, kept my emotions buried, almost psychotically repressed, and a tiny crack in my foundation had created a fissure.
I broke completely . . . or exploded or whatever.
"N-noooo!" I wailed, my chest feeling heavy.
"I got you. Go ahead and cry," he whispered into my hair.
But why did he have me? He hated me . . . and rightfully so!
For reasons I didn't understand, he held me tightly to him while I soaked his shirt with my snot. Why didn't he push me away in disgust? I didn't ask him. Asking him would waste time, and I had such little time to indulge in this moment. Time could go fuck itself.
I melted into him and imagined time crying like Dali's clocks; persistent memories couldn't touch me in the warmth of this embrace. Bells rang indicating other places we needed to get to, but still I keened, luxuriating in the release, the ceaseless comfort of being loved so well.
When my tears dried up, I continued making sobbing noises, afraid he'd stop cuddling me.
"You're my brave girl," he whispered tenderly and kissed the top of my head.
"I'm a chicken shit."
"Are you crying because of what I said to you yesterday?" He made a choking noise in his throat.
"Guh?" I asked eloquently.
Reluctantly lifting my head from the oasis of his chest, I pulled away so I could see his expression; he loosened his arms but refused to break from the embrace completely.
"I'm so fucking sorry, sweetheart. You have no idea." He bowed his head and pressed his forehead against my shoulder, his hair tickling my neck.
"I broke your heart," I reminded him dumbly, "and now you're with Lauren."
"I'm not with Lauren. Why would you even think that?"
"I dunno," I snuffled. "You invited her over for dinner. You never invited me to dinner."
"Alice babbled about inviting her over to dinner tonight. She's her friend; I told her to do what she wanted. I had plans tonight anyway."
"What kind of plans?" I asked shakily.
"Uh, yeah . . . I was going to hide in the tree outside your house and try to catch a glimpse of you . . . just to make sure you're okay. Not in a creepy, stalker kinda way." He cupped my cheek in his palm, and I nuzzled his hand without thinking. "I love this face so much."
"I love you so much-" My throat tightened. "You have to know that."
"Why won't you be with me?" he asked softly.
"Because I love you, because I know we're going to ruin any chance we have to be together by indulging each other's addictions. I don't want you to resent me."
"If you're doing this for me, then stop it." His eyes turned dark, his jaw clenching as if in determination.
"I'm doing it for me too. I don't know how to make things better. I'll never learn how to deal with what happened to me if I don't at least try to do it on my own."
"You need me," he insisted, rubbing my cheek tenderly.
"So fucking much," I agreed. "I do. But I need me to be able to take care of myself. I need to learn how to cope with all my fucked up shit without being self-destructive. Because my behaviour isn't just hurting me. I'm fucking you up too. I'm fucking up my dad and Jake and anyone who's ever showed me kindness because I don't know what the fuck to do with it." I pulled back, wiping my messy nose across my sleeve. "I love you, Edward, but I'm not willing to destroy you."
He nodded tersely. "What about what I want?" His voice cracked, and he rubbed his jaw as if I'd punched him.
"What do you want?" I ventured.
"You."
"I'm yours," I said quickly. "All I need is some time."
"Okay," he said softly. "I've got time to give."
A/N Reviews are better than spanking a monkey. Speaking of which, I'm co-hosting a wank contest called Spank the Monkey! You know you want to write for this. Do it!