Heyyyyyyyy... Very long time, no see. Way, way too long.
I'll explain a bit more down below, so for now, I'll just apologise, and hope you enjoy the chapter.
In case you need a refresher, this picks up right where the last one ended, when Bella overhears Mike and Edward fighting after gym class.
Disclaimer: no copyright infringement intended.
Chapter 16
21 October 2011
"Bella?"
My voice rings with a dull echo down the suddenly quiet hall. It's the kind of oh-shit quiet that only happens when a room full of people simultaneously think 'Oh, shit'.
Shit. Shit shit shit. Has she been there the whole time?
Her eyes meet mine, and my stomach drops out, and swings up and churns around a bit, just to be on the safe side. Did she hear everything? She's looking at me in a way she never really has before, and my inexperience with her current state of mind means I don't know what the fuck to say.
She turns back to Angela, and says, "Uhm. We can go."
Angela's response takes a second, but once it does, she says it quickly. "Okay," she goes, nodding vigorously.
As they walk past, I try to catch Bella's eye, but she faces forward and avoids me completely. That's probably not great.
Emmett watches them as they leave; as the door swings back, he turns to Mike. "Nice going, genius."
"What?" Mike raises his eyebrows dismissively. "How is that my fault? She blends into the fucking wall. It's not like you guys saw her, either."
I want to punch his face in. He's always a little shit, but today he's really something else.
Emmett gives me a warning look, so I take a deep breath and casually imagine bashing Mike in the head with his stupid gym bag instead.
"Well, whatever," Emmett says. "Just chill out, all right? Seriously, that could've been Coach instead of Angela, and then both of you would've been fucked." He claps me on the shoulder after saying this. I know he's trying to make me feel shame or remorse or something, but at the moment I really don't care. I'd gladly get in trouble with Coach if it meant I could make Newton cry like a baby.
Perhaps sensing this, Emmett changes his clap to a grip, and pulls me away from Mike. "Come on, let's go."
"Later," Mike says sarcastically, to show us how he's so super fucking cool and superior.
"He's such a tool," I say as we walk out the door, not giving a shit if he hears me.
"Yeah, well, he always has been," Emmett replies. I can feel him glancing at me, but I keep my eyes on the ground. I know Bella isn't that far ahead of us, and if I start looking for her, I won't be able to stop, which might make Em suspicious, so the ground it is. "You don't usually care that much."
I shrug like a brat, which I'm sure helps tremendously in not making him suspicious.
He's silent for a moment as we walk, matching my pace like he usually does, even though he could be halfway across the parking lot in two steps. "He's kind of right, though. She does blend into walls."
I snap my head up. "What? Come on."
"Not like in a bad way," he says, looking sincere. "She's really good at it. She could be a spy or something."
"Don't be stupid," I say, turning away just in time to catch Bella and Angela reaching the stairs leading up to the main building and disappearing behind the bushes. Dammit.
"What?" he says. "Like you know her career aspirations. Maybe she wants to join the CIA or whatever."
I actually know that she has no idea what she wants to do, which she pretends only freaks her out about a quarter as much as it actually does. But, again, suspicions must be tamed here.
"I guess."
"Wouldn't that be cool?" he goes on, getting a look in his eyes that usually only appears when he talks about stuff he thinks would be cool, like owning a Bugatti or moving to Alaska and having a team of sled dogs. "Like, we all come back for our 10-year reunion, and she's all 'I'm sorry, I can't talk about work — that's classified information.'" He raises both eyebrows as he smiles at me. "Right?"
"Sure."
He nods to himself. "Her dad's a cop, too. I bet he's taught her all kinds of stuff."
"Pretty sure the Chief of Police in Forks hasn't been teaching his daughter tricks of the trade."
"I don't know, man — Chief Swan looks like the kind of guy who knows some shit, you know? I bet they have a secret panic room or something."
"You watch too much TV," I say, bounding up the steps towards the school.
"No such thing. Anyway, all I'm saying is, she's a cool chick. I mean, a little quiet, but… Jasper says she's really funny. Which reminds me, we're not giving him enough shit about the chess club thing."
I glance back at him, but he's not looking at me. I don't know if this makes me nervous or relieved. "Yeah."
"Has he made you look at that stupid World of Warcraft chess set thing he wants from ebay? It's like two hundred dollars! He's lost his mind."
"Yeah, it's pretty stupid," I say, reaching the front doors and pushing them open. Bella's nowhere to be seen. What if she's really mad at me? I don't actually know a lot about girls, despite growing up with Alice, so it feels like a very tangible possibility she might be mad at me. Will she still come over after school?
I could maybe text her, but something tells me 'Hey, I know you're probably mad at me, but are you still coming over later so we can make out?' isn't going to fix this situation.
The thought gnaws away at me for the rest of the afternoon. I check my phone way too much. She doesn't text me, and I don't know what to say, so I don't either, which I know is bad and is either freaking her out or pissing her off more. Why am I not better at this?
I only just manage to bring my focus back around during practice, even though it's mostly to stop myself from punching Mike in the face in a moment of weakness.
I hurry out to my car when we're done, waving bye to the guys as I get my phone out again. I stare at it as I walk, and before I can think about it too much, I shoot her a quick, 'See you in 30?' before stuffing it safely back in my bag, which I toss in the back seat. I can't keep my fingers from tapping on the wheel as I drive home.
I almost leave my bag in the car. If it's in the car, I can't check my phone, and if I can't check my phone, I won't ever have to know if she's ignoring me or not. It's too much of a dick move for me to follow through with it, though. I still wait until I'm in the kitchen before taking a look.
'Yeah, just dropping stuff at home.'
I stare at the screen. I can't even be relieved she's not ignoring me, because I don't know what this means. She's coming over — that's a good sign. And her texts have always been straightforward, so it's not an unusual response from her. But I was expecting an unusual response, not the same kind of stuff she texts me all the time.
I think I kind of want her to be mad at me. Maybe because I'm mad at me. I'm mad I let Mike get to me like that, and I want Bella to be mad about it, too, so we can be mad together. Being mad is just a slightly violent way of saying you give a shit.
That might be the bare bones of it. I'd rather she be mad at me than say she doesn't care what Mike said. I don't think I could bear watching her just brush this off like it's nothing.
I putter around the house while I wait for her to show up. I'm standing in front of the open fridge, a piece of string cheese in my hand, when there's a knock at the kitchen door.
Turning, I can just see her through the frosted glass, her coat a dark green smudge. I eat the last bite of cheese as I walk over. When I open the door, she's smiling. Not exactly what I expected.
"Hey," I say, stepping aside to let her in.
Despite the smile, she looks away from me as she steps forward, eyes flitting around the kitchen. "Hi."
I close the door, and the click of the hatch is awkwardly loud. It hits me how quiet the house is. No one else is home yet, so all the sounds of activity are missing. It's not raining outside, so there's nothing in the background. I didn't turn the TV on while I waited for her, so that's gone, too.
The silence seems to pull all the air out of the room and fill the space between us with cotton, instead.
She's casting her eyes around the place, hands in the pockets of her coat. I wait for a beat, and the cotton scratches at my face as it expands.
"How was chess club?" I blurt, just for something to say.
She looks up, pulled out of her reverie. "Oh, it was good. The usual." She pauses, shifting on her feet. "Uhm. Jasper finally bought this chess set he's been wanting for a while. It's like a—"
"World of Warcraft set."
She blinks with a small smile. It's like a flat-pack smile. Ready to assemble. "Right. Guess he's showed it to you too, huh?"
"Yeah." I smile back, but I know it looks forced, same as hers. All the things we're not saying get tangled in the fibers. I want to just get it over with, ask her what she heard, what she thought, if she's mad or hurt. But her walls are up and holding steady, and I'd prefer to talk to her, rather than the bricks. I can't climb over it or dig beneath until she helps me out and points out a weak spot, and right now she really doesn't want to.
She looks down at the floor, rocking ever so slightly back on her heels. "Uhm. Mom wants to have you over for dinner sometime."
I raise my eyebrows at the subject change. "Oh. Why?"
She shrugs. "I don't know, she just mentioned it now." She vaguely gestures back in the direction of her house. "I was just asking about watching a movie here, you know, and she said it was fine, but then she was like 'Edward should come over for dinner' and, yeah. I don't know."
My smile now is far more genuine. "I'd like that."
She laughs, and it's like cracking a window, just a bit. Some air flows back into the room, brushing the cotton away from my face. "You say that now," she mutters, finally shrugging out of her coat.
"What?" I laugh, taking it from her and leading the way out of the kitchen. She follows me at a steady pace.
"No, I just… I don't think you realize how awful it would be."
"Why would it be awful?" I ask as I hang her coat up by the front door. She comes next to me and toes her shoes off.
"Because it's dinner with just me and my parents."
I raise an eyebrow and wait. She notices and raises one right back at me.
"Like, just me and my parents."
"So?"
"So, it's not like having dinner with your family. You guys are like, loud and funny and crazy. The Swans really aren't."
"You're a little bit crazy," I correct her, and she waves it away with her hand.
"Yeah, but in a bad way. I'm telling you, dinner at my place would be super awkward. It's literally just us sitting at the table while Mom talks to herself. Dad and I just nod along and eat."
I snort and, pointing around her, lead the way up the stairs. "So I'll just talk to your Mom. Problem solved."
"You really shouldn't do that. Where do you think I get my crazy from?"
"But I like your crazy," I say, glancing back at her. She tries to hide her pleased smile at that.
"Yeah, but mine's diluted by Dad's genes. Hers is just… fully saturated."
"Noted. I'm still pretty sure it'll be fine." I've reached my bedroom, and I push the door open for her to walk through. I watch her closely as she does — she didn't come up here last time she was over, so she's never seen it before. Her eyes sweep across the corners, the walls, taking everything in.
I keep it clean of my comic book stuff. At first it was so when my friends came over, they wouldn't see it and make fun of me, but now it's just because everything is out in the tree-house.
Almost everything, anyway. Bella makes her way over to my bookcase, raising her hand and brushing a finger over the McDonald's Happy Meal Hulk toy nestled in between a copy of Hamlet from English last year, and a photo album Mom gave me when I turned fifteen.
I made Bella go by herself to get the toys, because I was too embarrassed. It was almost two years ago, when we'd first started hanging out. She got the Iron Man one.
"You kept this," she murmurs, glancing at me over her shoulder. I lean in the doorway, smiling back in response. I know she kept hers too; I saw it in her room.
I watch her take everything in. Take me in, seeing me in all the things I choose to keep and display in my space. Her gaze slips and snags on my bed before pushing past it.
She turns in a slow circle, eyes finally landing back on me. "I like your room," she says, echoing my own words from the other day.
"Thanks." I push off the doorway and head for my desk. She goes back to checking out my books while I open my laptop and put some music on. Just low, for the background to occupy itself with.
She glances back at me over her shoulder, a question in her expression as her fingers hover over the photo album. I nod with a smile, and she pulls it out, bringing it with her to my bed where she sits down, leg folded underneath her. I take a seat in my chair, fingers crossed over my stomach.
She reads the note Mom wrote on the inside of the cover. "What's a 'Punkin'?"
I rub a hand through my hair with an embarrassed laugh. "I, uh, I couldn't really say 'pumpkin' when I was little, so I just kinda said punkin. Mom thought it was cute or whatever, and it kind of stuck."
"Oh my god, that's adorable."
"It's really not."
"Yes, it is. Does your mom call you that all the time?"
"No," I laugh.
"I'm going to write it in your yearbook," she says, smirking at me before turning back to the photo album.
"You wouldn't dare," I say, grinning, but she pretends to ignore me. I let her.
She's carefully thorough as she looks through the pictures; the album rests in her lap, her hair slipping over a shoulder as she hunches over it. She smiles, bringing her hand up to her mouth.
"You were cute," she says, eyes cutting up to me for only a second.
I crane my neck, trying to see which photo she's looking at. It's the one from mine and Alice's second birthday. Like a terrible cliché, I'm waving a fist full of cake around with a happy grin. Alice is next to me, crying, and you can see Dad's hands, out of focus and blurred just as he's reaching out to grab her.
"Still am, some might say," I reply, throwing her an exaggerated wink. She rolls her eyes with a snort.
As she flips through the album, and the music fills the space between us, I can feel the cotton wool coming back. But it's not in the room now, it's inside me, pushing up my throat.
I want to talk about what happened, so we can get it over with and move on to other stuff. She's sitting on my bed, in my empty house, for god's sake. There's so much other stuff we should be doing. I just don't want Mike Newton shambling around like the moronic elephant in the room while we do.
She's at the picture of my first day at school by the time I've gathered my courage enough to speak.
"Bella?"
"Yeah?" she mumbles, seemingly only half-listening.
"Do we need to talk about today?"
She frowns down at my album. "Today?"
"Gym."
Her whole body freezes for a second. She cuts her eyes up to me and, feigning confusion, says, "Gym?"
I pin her with a stare. "Newton. Do we need to talk about Newton?"
She immediately turns back to the album, shaking her head. "Nope."
Exhaling roughly, I roll my chair over and lift the album out of her lap.
"Hey," she snaps, and I hold it out of her reach as she tries to grab for it.
"Bella."
"What?" she huffs, sitting back down and matching my stare with her own. The skin around her eyes is tight. "No, we don't need to talk about Newton. I'm fine. It was nothing."
"It wasn't nothing," I insist, dropping the album on the floor. Why does she have to be so stubborn all the time?
"You seem more upset about it than me," she challenges, crossing her arms over her chest. "Seriously, I'm fine."
"Well, maybe I'm not fine," I say. "And maybe I want to talk about the dick who insulted my girlfriend."
My stomach spasms as I realize I just called her my girlfriend. I haven't done that before. Thankfully, she doesn't seem to notice, glaring back at me in stony silence instead.
But as the seconds pass, as I refuse to back down, something uncoils in her shoulders, that stubborn steeliness fading away. She tries to hold on to it, I can see that she does. But her ears turn a darker shade of pink, and it's not long before her stare starts to waver.
I roll a little closer, and she looks away, down and to the side.
"Bella," I say again, my voice quiet and careful now. Because something's been burrowing in the back of my mind since gym class, and I really don't know if I want to ask this question, or if I want to hear the answer, but I have to. Mike wasn't just pissed about losing. He was pissed about losing to Bella, specifically, and the burrowing thing is the question of why that is. I can't let it go. "Has… Has Mike ever said anything to you that you haven't told me about? Or… done something?"
To my horror, she seems to grow a little smaller, hunching inwards. My neck grows cold while something in my chest begins to burn, and I have to keep from clenching my fists.
I do my best to wait, watching as she wrestles with herself. I know how hard this sort of thing is for her, and even though I want to push, it would just make it worse. So I wait.
Finally, she takes a slow breath. The color is high in her cheeks, and she keeps her eyes firmly trained on her lap. "It wasn't— I've told you most things. I just didn't…" But instead of saying what she didn't, she shakes her head and trails off with a shrug. "It doesn't matter. I guess I didn't want to think about it too much, or whatever."
Here her eyes finally flicker up to mine before quickly finding other points of purchase around the room. "Remember… You know how, a couple of weeks ago, there was that thing in Government? When Mike and I had to work together?"
I swallow tightly and nod. I definitely remember that. Austin wouldn't shut up about it during that whole practice. I asked Bella about it during our walk that night. She told me pretty much the same story I'd heard from Austin and Taylor, so I assumed that was all there was to it.
"I didn't stick around to hear what Mr. Jefferson said to him," she says. "After class, I mean. But I guess he didn't like it very much, whatever it was. He… He tracked me down in the hallway, afterwards. He was pretty pissed. And he grabbed me."
She pauses at my sharp inhale. When she speaks again, she looks at me, face open and honest, her voice laid bare. "And then he told me I should've kept my mouth shut, like he told me to during class. And he called me a bitch."
Her mouth quirks slightly, but she doesn't look amused. "I guess he wanted to really make a point though, because he was the reason I fell in the parking lot later." She spreads her hands, showing me her palms. The scrapes are all but faded now, but I remember what they looked like that night. The burning in my chest grows hotter, spreading to my stomach and up my neck. "He walked into me really hard. Knocked me over."
I reach for her hands, and she lets me take them.
"I don't think he likes me," she finishes, the corner of her mouth pulling up in an attempted smile. It quickly fades.
"Bella… you have to tell someone." I fight to keep my voice steady.
"I just did," she says, half-joking, but I shake my head. I'm too angry, and I don't want to hear her brush this off.
"No, I mean someone like a teacher. Like Coach, or Principal Green. They can—"
She shakes her head right back at me. "No."
I sit up straighter, staring at her incredulously. "No? You have t—"
"I don't have to do anything." Her voice comes out with a bite, her eyes flashing. But she softens back right away, as if her anger surprised her. She squeezes my fingers in apology. "Telling someone is going to make it worse," she continues, in a more even tone.
Probably seeing the protest building on my face, she leans closer, looking back and forth between my eyes. "Think about it, Edward. Even if I tell someone, what are they going to do? At worst, he'll get a slap on the wrist and big speech about how he should play nice," she says, sarcasm bleeding into her voice. "You know what happens when Mike gets told off. You did it today, and Coach did it, too. He gets embarrassed, and when he's embarrassed, he gets angry."
"So?" I say, anger bleeding into my voice. I know she's right, but that's seriously not reason enough to let him get away with this shit. "Let him get angry. It'll prove your point, and then he'll get more than a slap on the wrist."
"Maybe. But either way, he'll blame me," she says. "He'll think it's my fault he was treated like a child, or whatever. And he'll hate me more."
"So you're just going to let him keep being an asshole?"
She sighs, shaking her head. "No, I— I don't know."
"Bella, this is serious."
"I know."
"He's bullying you."
She furrows her brows. "I wouldn't go that far."
"Bell—"
"Look, if it gets worse, I'll tell someone," she interrupts. "Obviously. But until then, I… I'll just have to stand up for myself. Maybe if I stop reacting like he wants me to, he'll get bored and leave me alone."
I look at her. We both know that's not going to happen.
I hate all of this. I hate the idea of her being treated like this by a fucking shithead like Mike, and I hate that I haven't seen the signs of it sooner. I hate that it's taken me this long to ask her.
Her eyes drift over my face, and with a sudden, soft smile, she reaches up and smooths her thumb between my eyebrows, trying to push my scowl away. Her tension breaks, sending my own into a wobble, however much I want to keep it steady.
"And who knows, maybe what you did after Gym will be enough," she says. "Maybe now that he knows he won't get away with saying stuff like that, he'll stop."
"You think so?" I say, trying to convey with my tone how I'm very much not convinced.
"What? You never know. You intimidate him, and he's not as brave as he wants people to think he is."
I blink at her. My tension wobbles harder, until I finally lose control of it. It bursts, leaving me with only a faint shimmer of surprise.
"What?"
"What?"
"I intimidate him? Since when?"
"Uh, since always?" She raises her eyebrows at me, and I respond with a dubious face.
"Oh, come on, you know you do. You're a better player, you're team-captain, and you get better grades. You've been taller than him since pre-school. Plus, all the girls at school like you."
My own eyebrows jump up, and I blink at her a few more times. "They do?"
She makes a face and pinches my arm.
"Ow! What was that for?" I try to pull away, but she holds onto my hand.
"Almost all the girls," she say, ignoring me. "Especially Lauren, and everyone knows Mike's tried to date her since she grew boobs, but she barely looks at him."
I laugh at this. "Oh, come on. Lauren doesn't like me."
"Oh my god," she grumbles, dropping my hand. She uncurls her legs and gets off the bed. I snag her arm, pulling her back.
"Where are you going?"
"Lauren likes you. How can you not know that?" she mutters, half-heartedly pushing against my shoulder as I wrap my hands around her elbows.
"How do you know she does?"
"Oh, please, the whole school knows."
I stare up at her. "Lauren doesn't like me," I state firmly.
Her eyes bug wide. "Yes, she does! Are you blind or something? She's always like, touching your arm, and laughing at everything you say, and she does this—" She pushes her arms in towards her chest, and I immediately lose my train of thought "—a lot."
I stare at her chest. "Do that again."
"Are you serious? No. Ask Lauren to do it. I'm sure she'll be more than happy to," she says, trying to pull out of my grasp.
"But I don't want Lauren to do it," I say, rising from my chair. She stumbles back a step and then protests as I turn us and walk forward.
Her calves hit the bed, and I keep pushing. She falls with a yelp, clutching at my arms, and I fall with her, laughing as I catch myself on my hands.
"Edward! What are you doing?" She's exasperated. It's priceless.
She tries to wiggle out from under me, but I quickly shift to straddle her thighs.
"Where are you going?" I ask again, poking her side. She slaps my hand away, but I just do it on her left, twice in swift succession. She flinches, choking down a giggle as she tries to glare up at me.
I flutter my fingers against her ribs, and she grabs for my wrist.
"Edward, no," she warns, even as my other hand darts towards her stomach. "No!"
"Yes," I say, easily breaking her hold. Before she can take a full breath, I dive in, and her shriek comes out strangled and weird, shifting immediately into hysterical laughter as I tickle her.
Shouting at me to stop, she tries to roll away, but my knees hold her in place. Her face turns red, tears leak from her eyes, and she's laughing so hard she's shaking under me.
"I'm going to die!"
"No, you're not!" I shout back. Bending down, I put my mouth against her neck and blow as hard as I can.
She kicks her legs and screams at the top of her lungs, and I reel back, eyes scrunched shut. "Jesus, right in the ear," I laugh.
"Stop, stop, stop," she begs me.
"No, look at you, you're laughing. You like it!"
She says something in response, but her laughter makes it completely unintelligible.
Finally she manages to get her arms in between us, and before I can react, she pushes against my chest while twisting away from me. Hopefully unintentionally, her knee comes dangerously close to smacking into my groin, and it's this more than anything that makes me flinch away until I'm sitting up straight. I wobble on the unsteady surface of my mattress, and taking advantage, she gives another push on my chest.
My knees slip off the end of the bed, and with a shout I throw my arms out, but still end up with my ass on the floor. She immediately rolls away, staggering to her feet and grabbing the back of my chair. She's gasping for breath, still giggling hysterically as she backs away, keeping the chair in front of her like a barrier.
I fall back and throw an arm over my eyes, laughing until my stomach hurts. Without lowering my arm, I reach my other hand out towards her.
"No way," she says, setting me off again.
"I'm sorry, I'll stop," I laugh. "I'm sorry."
"You're such an asshole."
"I know," I wheeze, wiping at my eyes. With some effort, I stagger to my knees and get back on the bed, collapsing onto my back.
I drop my arm against my chest, looking at her. Her breathing is coming under control, but her cheeks are flushed, her eyes are bright, and her hair is a mess. She looks so beautiful it makes my heart pang.
"I'm serious, I'll stop," I chuckle, trying to take deep, even breaths. "You almost kneed me in the balls."
"Good," she mutters. "Asshole."
But even so, she cautiously steps away from the chair, approaching the bed once again. I laugh quietly, holding my hands up in surrender.
She crawls back on the bed. I turn onto my side, folding my arm beneath my head as she lies down to face me.
"That was mean," she says, and I put my finger against the clear contradiction to her words – the corner of her mouth, raised in a smile.
"Yeah, but it was fun." I grin, sliding my hand to her neck and leaning in to kiss her.
She make a vague noise of agreement and hooks a finger in the neckline of my shirt.
We lie here for a while, our breathing soon evening out. I rub gentle circles with my thumb against her neck. After a moment, I speak into the space between us, not bothering with a preamble; she'll know what I mean.
"Thank you. For telling me. And I'm sorry."
She nods, but doesn't say anything in response. Maybe she doesn't need to.
I lean in and kiss her again, pulling her a little bit closer. Her hand brushes against my neck as she finds my jaw, one of her fingers digging lightly into the soft space behind the corner of it.
Inevitably, my thoughts get muddied the longer her lips are on mine, and I deepen the kiss without thinking about it, sliding my hand into the back of her hair. For a moment, she grows soft, arching her back closer to me, but then she loosens her hold. To my disappointment, she pulls away, and I worry I've done something wrong.
But when I open my eyes, I'm met with the sight of her cheeks blushing pink, and her eyes trained firmly on my chest. She looks indecisive, which is the last thing I want her to be when she's on my bed.
I duck my head, trying to catch her eye. "What?"
"You called me your girlfriend before," she says, foregoing her own preamble. I really wish she hadn't.
I freeze. Feeling like she just punched me in the gut, I swallow tightly. I guess she noticed after all. "Uhm. Yeah. I did."
She chews on her lip, a small furrow between her brows. "Is that— I mean…"
"Do you want to?" I blurt, like an actual dumbass.
Her eyes meet mine – not in delight, like I would've hoped, but in confusion. "What?"
Feeling even more like a dumbass, I explain, "D'you… Do you want to be my, uh, girlfriend?"
I'm overwhelmed by my own smoothness.
For a second, her expression doesn't change at all. But then her lips twitch, and her eyes relax, and I don't even need to see it all come together into a smile; I know it's coming and the relief I feel is so overwhelming I break out in a huge grin before she has a chance.
I hope it's that which makes her laugh and not my question, but it doesn't matter. She follows her laugh with a nod. "Yeah," she adds, for clarification.
"Okay," I say, kissing her immediately. And then a few more times after that, just to be on the safe side. She giggles against my lips.
"I guess that makes me your boyfriend," I say, and her fingers tighten on my neck.
"I guess so."
And then I can only assume she doesn't want to talk any more, as her tightened fingers pull me, all too willingly, back to her.
So, basically, this chapter is super delayed because I broke my wrist back in December (guy on a skateboard crashed into me as I got off a bus, and I caught myself with my outstretched hand), and I was in a cast for six weeks. Typing was pretty tricky and exhausting, so I got out of the habit of writing, and it's taken me way longer than I would've liked to get back into the swing of things.
I promise I'll try not to break any other limbs any time soon.
Anyway, thank you so much for reading - both the chapter, and this note. I hope you enjoyed it (the chapter, not the note).
Until next time,
Vic xx