A/N: The prompt today is different. Fictionista published their prompt too late for me. I have a small window of writing time on weekdays, so my friend Thimbles offered me a prompt this afternoon.
Word Prompt = Tunnel
Something True
Tunnel
This Fall
Last night, the wrong things tunneled through Bella's mind as she tossed and turned under the comforter, kicked it to the floor
The phone calls. The texts.
You've missed three sleepovers. —Lauren
"Are you mad?" Alice.
"Call me back." Jessica.
What's going on with you? —Rose.
They had gone on and on through the month of June until Bella heard from Alice,"This is the last time I'm calling until you stop pretending like I don't exist." After that, Bella had hit ignore and started deleting voicemails without listening to them.
Hours later, between thought and sleep, a siren startled Bella awake.
Where's the fire now? she thought. What now?
In the morning there's no news of a fire, no smoke darkening the sky, no ash falling like rain over the town.
It's the first day of Fall. A new season. Maybe it's time for new things to happen.
She steps onto school grounds thinking she'll apologize to her friends. Instead of dragging her feet through the halls, eyes cast down, she searches out her old best friends. She finds them huddled together in front of Lauren's locker.
It's odd looking at them like this from the outside. Like she doesn't belong where she used to. Like all of her friends have become butterflies while she is still a caterpillar. Or not even an active caterpillar, but one trapped in her chrysalis.
As Bella inches into their circle, Rose is the only one who says hi to her. The others pretend she isn't there.
"You guys," Bella says, but even she can barely hear her own voice as it's drowned out by the bell.
The girls disperse.
Bella stands in her spot, the hall emptying like liquid poured from pitchers.
What would she say to them, anyway? It's not like she could give them an explanation; and why should she have to? She crosses her arms over her chest. If they want to throw away over ten years of friendship, and can't understand that someone might have been going through something that has nothing to do with them, then screw them.
Bella stalks off to her next class shutting her mind from the thought, How could they know I was going through anything if I never told them?
...
Bella has continued to spend time at Edward's cottage. She doesn't go every day, or even every week, but when she does show up, without notice, he opens the door for her with a "Hey," as if he's expecting her.
This is something about Edward that reminds her of Rose. His acceptance of Bella, his welcoming.
They stay indoors most of the time, trading few words. They learn things about each other through observation. Both of them wear jeans and a T-shirt every day like it's life's uniform. Bella knows that Edward would rather listen to music with his eyes closed, head back against the chair, than watch TV. She knows that he only shaves once a week. Day by day he lets it grow, until midweek he shaves it all off. She knows that Edward never steps foot in his studio, at least not when Bella is around.
Edward probably knows that Bella would rather say nothing at all than to tell him his tree is never going to make it through winter. He must know that while Bella rarely takes her jacket off at the cottage, she always ends up out of her shoes. He might know that every time she comes over something troubling has sent her here. What it is, he can't know. It varies. Sometimes it has to do with her parents. Sometimes it's a break from her own mind she seeks.
Every once in a while, Edward says he needs to get out, and after watering his tree, they stroll along the shore listening to the water lapping and the birds overhead until they get to the Great Rock, where they turn and follow their footprints back the way they came.
Today they stop to check out his tree on their way back inside. "It looks better, right?"
Bella searches for any sign that it doesn't look worse. She can't find one.
Inside she takes off both her jacket and her shoes. When there's a knock at the door, Edward shoots Bella a puzzled frown as if to say, "You're already here; who could it be?"
Angela, looking designer-beautiful in high-heeled boots, jeans, and a crochet cardigan, stands on the other side of the door.
"Can we talk?" Her voice is soft, but high-pitched. She shifts her eyes to Bella. "Alone?"
"Nope."
She doesn't move. Bella shifts on the couch.
"Hey," Angela says. "Rosalie's friend, Bella?"
Edward interrupts Bella's beginning of a nod. "What are you doing here?"
"I want to talk. To you."
"Good luck with that." He disappears into the kitchen.
She enters, the screen shutting behind her. "Just give me a chance." She lifts her chin, stretching her neck as she tries to raise her voice, but it still sounds stifled.
He doesn't answer. He reappears with a beer in his hand.
"Still here?"
"Edward." She looks at the floor, sleek black hair falling forward. "I drove all the way from Seattle."
"And that's my fault?"
"No." She looks up at him, her eyes watery. "Please?" She glances to her right where the bedrooms are.
Bella follows Edward's gaze to the gold necklace Angela's toying with at her chest. It's a word, or words, on a chain that Bella can't read from where she is. Edward's shoulders drop. He turns to Bella. "We'll just be a minute."
He leads Angela to his room.
"What is she doing here?" She can hear Angela ask before he closes the door. Bella doesn't hear his answer. The sound of raised voices—his then hers—have Bella slipping into her shoes and walking out the back door, heading through sand to the dock. She steps past the lamppost, past a wading Blue Heron looking for food, onto the dock. It sways over the water as she wanders to the end of it where she sits gazing out at the lake, out at the island.
She peers over her shoulder to check for the heron. It's still there. What was it Mrs. Cameron had told her about the Blue Heron when they'd spotted one together? It was a Native American legend, she'd said, and she'd simplified it into something like, "When a Blue Heron finds you, don't be surprised if you see yourself clearer, understand and accept the truth of your emotions." Bella was barely twelve then, and hadn't really understood what any of that meant; and now, sitting on the dock watching the heron—its tall, elegant body, its long neck—she still isn't sure. She closes her eyes, waiting to feel something.
She feels a chill.
The sun is just beginning to set, sending a streak of orange light across the water. The air is getting colder. Pulling her arms inside her T-shirt, she crosses them over her chest and curls into her knees. Her jacket's still inside. She contemplates leaving it there and going home.
"I thought you left." Edward's at the edge of the dock, squinting under the lamplight. "She's gone."
Bella stands as Edward approaches. His eyes are red-rimmed again. Bella doesn't like it. She has a better idea of what the cause is now.
Hands in his jacket pockets, he gestures with an elbow toward the aluminum fishing boat. "It's my grandpa's. Want to go for a ride?"
They climb into the boat. Out of a metal chest from behind Bella's bench, Edward grabs a wool blanket and lays it over her shoulders. She wraps it around herself, and he yanks the motor to a stuttering start.
The rumbling boat, splashing water, slapping wind, are the only sounds. No one else is around.
In the middle of the lake, Edward kills the motor and the silence seems to rush at them from every angle as it takes over. They drift. The water looks gray and thick.
Edward rubs over his face, the heels of his hands digging into his eyes.
"What happened?" Bella asks.
He lets his hands drop, eyes on Bella. "What happened to you?"
"Okay." Holding the blanket tighter around her, she leans against the unforgiving metal edge of the chest behind her, and averts her gaze toward the faraway shore. Beyond the fir trees is the peak of a mountain topped with snow.
"She fucked my roommate, all right?"
Bella flinches, at the words, the harsh tone with which he spit them out. She remembers for the briefest of seconds how she'd once wished to be Angela, maybe more than once.
Something inside of her wants to wring Angela's neck. Or cry.
"I'm-"
"Don't say you're sorry. Please."
"She wants you back?"
"Yeah."
"Do you want her back?"
He opens his mouth in answer, but pauses. And then, "I wish I didn't."
"You still love her?"
He turns away from her, blinking against the wind. "I wasn't ready to - I wasn't. I mean, we weren't in a place where I was... ready to break up with her. She- Forget it."
"Broke your heart?"
He nods.
"It isn't real."
"What isn't?"
"Heartbreak."
Edward sighs. "All right." He starts the motor up again. "It's getting too dark." He asks Bella to take the big flashlight out of the case and shine it out in front of them so he can see where he's going.
Back at the dock, he ties the boat up, and offers his hand to Bella when she climbs out. He lets her keep the blanket over her shoulders as they head back to the cottage.
"I liked it better when you didn't know," he says. "You were the one person..."
Bella understands exactly what he means and almost feels bad for knowing, for no longer being able to give him the peace from his troubles he probably needs. She should learn not to ask questions.
...
Edward slides the backdoor closed behind them. "What did you mean heartbreak isn't real?"
Bella starts folding the blanket. "I mean. I know you feel it. I'm not trying to say you don't. But love isn't real, so heartbreak can't be real. It's just... we're fooled."
"Aren't you a little young to be so jaded?"
"What does age have to do with truth?" Remembering the heron, she nods once to herself, picks up her jacket from the kitchen chair, and pulls it on.
Edward walks her to the door. Before she leaves, she turns around, lifts to her toes and hugs him, her arms sliding over his shoulders and around his neck. He hugs her back, light at first, but then she feels him squeeze tight and take a deep breath before he releases her.
She pushes the screen open.
"Wait." He grabs his keys from the kitchen counter. "I'll walk you home."
A/N: Thank you all so much for continuing to read, for trusting me with this, and for the reviews and recs.
I understand that this will not always be an easy story to read, which is why I've categorized it under angst.