Word Prompt: Cord

Plot Generator - Making a mountain out of a molehill.

-PoM-

Rain fell steadily, gusts of wind pushing water through the sides of the blue tarp we stood assembled under and soaking the people standing on the fringe. The weather seemed to fit that day's overall mood: somber, sad, and a little bit angry. I huddled closer to Edward, craving his warmth because my bare legs were freezing.

I tried not to notice how his body shook as the Catholic Priest blessed the casket once more, instead tightening my arm around his waist in a silent show of support. Rose wrapped her free arm around me, Emmett on her other side, the rest of the band behind us. They'd all been the pallbearers, alongside two guys Ty had gone to school with.

Tyler's mother's cries were heartbreaking, and I wiped at my eyes with the wadded tissue that was practically useless by this point.

"May his soul and the souls of all the faithful departed through the mercy of God rest in peace."

As if a signal had been given, the congregation of mourners began to move, whispers buzzing like wasps as they unfroze from their stoicism and got in line to pay final respects, or took off running for their cars.

Eventually there was just a small group of people left—the last of Tyler's small family, the guys, me and Rose.

My heart broke for what seemed the hundredth time today when Edward and Jasper, Emmett and Ben formed a circle around the casket, bent their heads together in unison, and said their final goodbyes.

"This just isn't right," Rose whispered to me, arm going around my shoulder to pull me into a hug. "We shouldn't be here doing this."

And I knew what she meant. From the wake last night until this moment right now, I'd felt like I was in dreamland—not fully awake because, no matter how much people whispered that the funeral home had done a good job making him look like himself, they were wrong; because Lauren not even having the decency to show her face was both a good thing and a bad one—I worried for her if Rose caught her out and about; because seeing Tyler laying so still was awful; because knowing Edward wasn't dealing with this at all was the hardest part.

When we left the cemetery in separate cars so he could go be with the guys, I tried to play off the fresh round of tears to Rose as leftover from having to say goodbye.

-PoM-

Edward threw himself back into the band after that. Long hours were spent in rehearsal trying to get Leah up to snuff. More time was spent with Jasper going over the band's new trajectory. The short tour they'd had planned for the month after the album release was put on hold in favor of more local shows in Vancouver, Spokane and Portland so they could get a feel for how Leah played in front of an audience.

"I think she'll be great," I said.

"Yeah, she'll do fine." Edward pushed his plate aside.

I pushed my plate away, too. It was a week after Tyler's funeral and the first night Edward and I had spent any semblance of time together. We were eating dinner together at my apartment while Rose and Emmett went to a movie.

"Is everything else going okay?"

He glanced down at the table and then stood on a sigh, gathering the dishes and taking them to the sink. I turned around in my chair and watched him as he stacked them in the dishwasher.

"It is what it is," he said. The dishwasher door slammed closed and he turned around, crossing one leg over the other and leaning against the sink. "It's hard adjusting to a new member—we went through the same thing with Ben."

"Yeah, but you guys swung it just fine," I reasoned. "You did it and you did it well. You got a contract because of it. It'll work out."

"Yeah, well, we have to prove it to the label. They've been riding our asses all week about 'getting back out there' and it's fucking annoying."

"I didn't know that . . ." Of course, maybe if we saw more of each other, I might.

"Didn't Rose tell you?"

I bristled. "No, Rose didn't tell me. See, that's the thing about dating the lead singer—people assume you know what's actually going on because you're supposed to be in the loop."

I stood and headed to the living room, grabbed my cigarettes, and walked onto the small balcony overlooking our street. I shivered, wishing I'd thought to grab a jacket because the night was chilly following another day of fog and drizzle, but there was no way I was going back in there right now.

All week long I'd thrown myself into schoolwork and gave most of my extra hours to the paper just to have something to do, and I'd been frazzled and on the verge of an explosion because of it. The constant schedule was too much all at once; some days I thought about giving up one of them. And, lately, the paper seemed to be winning the tug-of-war.

"You done?" he asked.

I turned and held up my half-finished cigarette. "Nope."

"Good. Didn't want to be out here alone."

He lit his smoke and then pulled me to stand between his legs, chin resting on top of my head and lips at my ear. One of his arms banded around my stomach and stroked it through the fabric.

"What's got you so stressed out?"

I exhaled a long breath, threw my cigarette into the ashtray. "Work, school . . . everything. I feel like I'm lit at both ends and eventually the fire's gonna meet in the middle. I'm sorry for snapping at you."

"No big deal. We're both feeling the pressure, I guess. "

I leaned back into his embrace. There were moments lately where I thought he was pulling away and I didn't know how to hold on, but times like these made me realize how much I wanted to fight for that grasp. I tried not to think about the tour coming up soon because we'd deal with it the same way we always had, or maybe by then I'd know what I wanted to do.

"So, work and school are stressin' ya. Can you drop one of them? If you're worried about money, you don't need to be, Bella. I've told you that before."

"It's not the money, not really. I'm still not letting you pay my way. I think it's just that I'm at a crossroads and the decision is hard to make."

"Are you thinking about leaving school?" He turned me around, bent down until his eyes were level with mine. "Because I thought your degree was important."

"It was. It is. It . . . I don't know anymore. I really, really like working at the paper. Peter gives me interesting assignments and I learn so much more actually 'on the job' than I do in my classes. I like the people I work with and it's something I could see myself doing every day and loving. But then I think about how much money I'll waste by not completing my degree, and what if I need it down the road?"

"Do what feels best, Bella. School will always be there if you decide to let it go for the time being. And there will always be another job around the corner if you think that you want to stick out your degree."

"Yeah. I'll figure it out eventually. Hey, thanks for the talk. You made me feel a little better."

"Figured I'd pay you back for all the times you've made me feel better."

He kissed me then, soft and sweet and slow, and some of the stress floated away in to the night.

-PoM-

"Bella, I need to talk to you."

"Sure thing, bossman." I followed Peter in to his office, took a set while he closed the door shut firmly behind us.

"I have something I think you're the best person for, and I want to discuss it with you."

I sat straighter. "The suspense is killin' me."

He chuckled. "Funny. Look, I want a piece written on Tyler Crowley. The kid had an awful lot of talent and it's a shame he's gone now. And the readers were paying attention to him. We've been flooded with requests for something about him, and the head office wants it done. I do, too."

I looked down at my hands. "It's a very personal topic for me. I . . . I don't know what to say."

"I think, because you were his friend, you could give him a great tribute. You knew him almost as well as the other members of the band and I can't think of anyone else better to do it."

I didn't even have to think about it. "I hope I can do him justice."

"I know you will."

Later that day I came up with a plan. There were the usual memorial pieces I could structure my article on, but I didn't want to. I wanted it to be vibrant—memories of Ty from the people that knew him well, remarks on what he accomplished in his time on earth that rejoiced in him rather than making him yet another cautionary tale. So, instead of phoning it in, I told Peter I was going to do some research and hit the streets and Ty's usual haunts.

The waitress at the coffee bar he and Edward had liked to frequent, where they'd sit and talk about music and life, told me about how he always made his own coffee when she was busy, or left her an extra tip because he knew she was a single mother. And Ty had been the product of a single home environment.

The bartender at the Central Tavern was happy to give me an interview. The club was one he'd drag people just to go hear new bands because he liked anything and everything he could listen to. The bartender mentioned that he'd jump up on stage often and jam out to classic rock as a way to end the night, how he'd inevitably begin playing the opening to Smoke On the Water before the night was out.

There was a guitar shop in the U-District where they'd let him sit and play for hours and he gave lessons at in the days before the band made it big. They gave me names of the kids he'd taught—the future of music, maybe.

The skateboard shop where he hung out to pass the time before they hit the road was full of friends of Ty's that even I didn't know, and I sat there for longer than the others because the stories they told made me laugh and cry and just glad I'd had a chance to know someone so amazing.

His mother's house was my last stop, and even though she cried telling me about Ty growing up, she thanked me at the end of the visit, too, pushing picture albums in to my hands and telling me to use whatever I wanted. I hugged her goodbye, made her a promise that she'd get a chance to look at the article before it even ran, and then told her I'd see her soon.

The next day I headed to school and spent the rest of the afternoon in the library. I had a paper due, and I got that started, but mostly I combed over my notes for the article. Yesterday I'd talked to everyone I knew had touched him in some way, save for the guys who I'd talk to later, and I had attempted to write down every anecdote, every story that people had to tell. Some I was going to have to recheck if I wanted to run them because I didn't think I had the details exactly right.

As I began to structure my outline, I was bowled over by the fact that he was not just loved by the band as a bass player, or Rose and I as a friend; by Shelley as a son. There were so many people who loved him because he wanted to be everyone's friend.

When the library began to clear out, I packed up my stuff and headed home, exhausted.

There was a message from Edward on the answering machine when I got to my apartment.

"Hey, um, give me a call."

Not confident about the tone of his voice, I dialed his number

"Hey. It's me."

"Hi, where have you been? I've been trying to get ahold of you."

"I had to go to the library after school to start on something for classes and work a little on something I'm doing at the paper."

He'd been busy with rehearsals last night when I got home so I hadn't gotten a chance to tell him what was going on yet; I decided then that I would wait until it was perfect, and then I'd let him read it.

"I figured you guys were rehearsing tonight so I thought I'd just come back here and crash since I have school in the morning."

There was a tapping in the background. "I thought you were going to be here when I got home."

I didn't want this to turn into an argument, not after the good time we'd had a few nights before. "How about I plan to be there tomorrow when you're done? It's Friday and we can have a night to ourselves."

"Whatever works."

His flippant attitude brought me to the verge of tears. "Edward, please—"

He sighed heavily into the phone. "I'll just talk to you tomorrow. Okay?"

I hung up the phone and stared at it for a few moments. I was getting tired of the double standards. When he didn't have time to spend with me, I understood . . . usually. I didn't always like it, but it wasn't an argument I felt worth the hassle. He'd forgotten to tell me things in the past, like when he was leaving for Wisconsin or the thing about Leah and the label, but I do it one time and I'm the bad guy?

If Edward and I were one cord bound tightly together, why did I feel like it was starting to loosen?

Not wanting to let myself spiral in to a sadness I might not climb out of for a few days, I took a shower and went to bed.

It was late when I woke to a sound I couldn't quite place at first. I turned over groggily, wiping the sleep from my eyes.

Edward, illuminated by the moonlight, stood at the edge of my bed, covers in hand and wearing only his boxers.

"What time is it?"

"Almost midnight." The mattress dipped under his weight as he crawled over me and in to bed, pulling me against him to spoon.

The heat of his skin felt good against my back. "I'm glad you have a key."

He burrowed his head into my hair. "I don't want to fight."

"I know," I said pulling his arms more tightly around me. "I'm just glad you're here."

When I woke the next morning he was gone.

-PoM-

My desk felt like a prison cell that day. Thoughts swirled in my head, all angry and sad and hard to deal with, and I rubbed my fingers back and forth over my brow, running over every conversation we'd had over the last couple of days.

"How's your piece coming along?"

I glanced up from my thoughts and to Peter. "I'm almost finished. Just running the red pen over a few places."

"I had something come up short notice and I was wondering if you'd be able to swing it."

"Sure. What is it?"

"There's a band in Salt Lake City made up of local Seattle guys who took their act down there."

"That's kind of unusual. Why would they do that?"

"Well, the scene up here has been entrenched metal and grunge for so long, they wanted to see what they could do there."

I nodded—that was certainly true. "What kind of music do they play?"

"They're like a cross between the B-52's and Violent Femmes."

That was actually pretty perfect. "I'm so in, when do you want me to go?"

"This weekend."

The band had a show in Vancouver Thursday and then Portland on Saturday, and both of them were ones I desperately didn't want to miss. Leah was making her debut and I wanted to be there to support everyone, especially Edward.

He was pulling further and further away and I was frightened I wouldn't be able to get him back. There were tiny glimpses of hope—last night when he'd said he didn't want to fight; the night we'd talked about school and he'd promised me things would get better. But, mostly, he'd just shut down.

And did I really want to add to that?

"The guys have their first show since . . . you know. I kind of wanted to be there. It can't be any other weekend?"

"The arrangements have been made already. I can let someone else take it. I just thought of you first. Your work has been outstanding lately."

Even after all of my absences lately, or him letting me go on the road with the guys, that Peter still thought my work was good enough to give me opportunities pretty much sealed it for me. Edward would understand—he should, at least. I couldn't always be the one bending over backwards.

"I'm glad you think that. I'd love to go. When do I leave?"

"Thursday, so you can catch two nights of shows, back Saturday. It won't put you too tight leaving after school?"

"No, it shouldn't," I said vaguely. "I'm out by noon."

"Great. I'll get Jess to line up your itinerary. Make sure you drop off your article on Tyler before you go."

"I will. Thank you for thinking of me."

Wanting to test the waters, I called Rose when I got back to my desk. "Hello?"

"Hey, what are you doing?"

"Laundry and picking up the mess I left last time I whirled through here. Are you at work?"

"Yeah. I just got offered a huge opportunity."

"Hell yeah! So why do you sound so glum, then?"

"I'm not, not really. I get to cover a band of local guys in Salt Lake City and the show sounds fun."

"Right on. If you're so thrilled then why the mopey voice, chick?"

"It's this weekend."

"So, go! We'll be doing what we always do. And you can catch up with us when you can."

"You know Edward's not going to be happy about it."

She sat there for a moment and the longer that moment stretched, the more uneasy I became.

"He'll be fine. He knows what this means to you."

"I hope so."

-PoM-

Rose offered up the suggestion of tempering my news with an offering of a home cooked meal, so I called Edward after we hung up.

"I can't, I gotta run with Emmett down to Tacoma to pick up another amplifier. I don't think we'll be back until later. Maybe a raincheck?"

Well, crap. "I have something I need to talk to you about. It's kind of important."

"Good, I hope?"

"I think so. Peter's sending me on my first trip to cover a band of local guys."

"Sounds great. Where are you going?"

"Salt Lake."

"That's cool. When do you leave?"

"That's the thing. It's . . . this weekend."

I twirled the phone cord around my hand, watching as it tensed up tighter and tighter the longer he sat silent.

"Did you forget that we have Vancouver and Portland this weekend?"

"No, I didn't forget. I just couldn't turn it down because he offered it to me first before anyone else. Listen, I looked at the itinerary and I know I can make Portland by show time. I could fly there instead of home."

"Whatever. Do what you gotta do. No need to rush home or anything."

"Babe, don't be like that. This is important to me."

"Yeah, and it's great. Hey, I need to take off. Em's waiting."

I said goodbye and then watched the phone cord loosen, spinning fast until it lay limp and stretched out.

-PoM-

Thank you so much for your comments!

Song – River of Deceit – Mad Season