Word Prompt: Tumble
Dialogue Flex: "Why do you always put this off until the last minute?"
Something True
Tumble
Last Spring
Using the excuse that she was sick, Bella skipped the next two days of school. It seemed mostly true. She spent those days in bed, and all day long it felt as if she was trying to catch her breath.
She tried to avoid memories of love and being loved, and the realization that Riley had done nothing but lie. Had she lied to herself as well?
When she was four years old, her mother was frying vegetables over the stove. After pouring the vegetables into the bowl and replacing the skillet on the burner, her mother warned her not to touch the hot pan.
Bella was familiar with hot. She'd felt it in the bathtub and under the sun on warmer days. She'd felt it in the car exhaust as it heated her legs. So she stuck a finger out and set it right on the pan. With a screech she snapped back, and her mother rushed over to rinse Bella's finger. Bella, of course, had been crying uncontrollably.
Her mother's face was steady and focused, not a tear in sight, her voice free of any hint of doubt when she'd said, "You'll be okay. You're fine." Bella knew then there was no reason to cry.
"Now you know," her mother said after putting ointment on her finger, followed by a band-aid. "You learned the hard way." She kissed the bandaged finger and smiled. Bella smiled back.
She had learned of the reality of a burn the hard way, and in the same vein, she'd learned of love's reality. Like the pain of the burn she'd brought on herself, she'd done the same with love. It was nothing but a self-created fleeting feeling. Love tumbled through you. It was a trip, a glitch. And now that she knew, she wouldn't be fooled by it again.
"Does it still hurt?" came the memory of her mother's voice.
Looking up from her dinner plate, her finger still throbbing, Bella had said that no, it didn't. "It's gone," she said.
"That's my brave girl," her mother said, squeezing Bella's wrist.
...
On Saturday night, sleepover night, the girls met at Alice's. Nobody asked Bella why she was so quiet. There was no indication that they noticed anything out of the ordinary until Rose asked if Bella was still sick.
"A little," Bella said.
"Come on!" Jessica was saying to Alice as she pulled the fifth outfit from her closet. "The guys are already there. Why do you always put this off until the last minute? I knew two days ago what I was wearing tonight."
"I don't put it off," Alice said, stepping into jeans. "I just change my mind."
"That top looks exactly the same as the last one," Lauren said.
"No, it does not," Alice said as if she were chastising her. "My shoulders are too broad for that other one."
"Whatever. You've worn it before with those same shoulders."
Bella let herself be dragged to Pete's party. Once inside, as her friends split off to find their boyfriends, Bella tried to tune out voices, ignoring everyone the same way she was ignoring the sweat that was gathering under her hair at the nape of her neck. She would head straight for the refrigerator and grab a beer.
She hadn't quite made it to the kitchen before she heard Paul. "You in the right place, Swan? This ain't no teacher party."
Passing right by him, she skipped the fridge and went out back to the covered patio and sat on the swing. Head back, eyes closed, she pushed the swing with her toes. How much longer?
She could say she was sick again, she thought, and just walk home.
"For what it's worth," Pete said, crossing in front of her, joining her on the swing. "I know you didn't do it." He handed her a beer.
She would've feigned ignorance if she wasn't afraid of hearing his name and the rumor repeated back to her.
She sipped the beer and ran a finger back and forth over her thigh, over her jeans.
"You don't want to be here, do you?"
She doesn't want to be anywhere, she'd like to say. "If I have to be at a party with these people right now, at least it's at your house."
"You want to go somewhere quieter? Away from all these assholes?"
She said she did. Clasping her hand he led her through the house where she followed with her head down. Upstairs, in his room, he closed the door.
His room had changed since last she saw it. He had a queen size bed. His dresser was lined with trophies, the tallest one in the middle, and then set by size to the smallest at both ends. She didn't have to look to know they were from baseball.
She took a last swig of her beer and then started peeling the label off the bottle while he set up his iPod, playing low music.
"You're so depressed," he said.
"I'm not depressed."
He slipped something out of his back pocket and showed it to her. "Hey?"
It was a thin, twisted looking joint. After a few flicks of a lighter, he lit it up, took a hit, and passed it to her. "Don't tell my boys."
"I don't talk to your boys. And didn't you just call them assholes downstairs?"
"They are assholes," he said.
Sitting on the bed she inhaled and blew out.
"No, Swanny. You gotta hold it in. Like, swallow it." He showed her what he meant and she tried again.
It burned her throat, but she held it as long as she could stand it, coughing it out.
He laughed. "There you go."
They passed it back and forth letting the music fill the silence. Although Bella wasn't exactly listening to it.
After another strong inhale followed by hacking, she said, "You know how when you take a wrong turn? Like, in the wrong parking lot or something? You can reverse. Turn around. Go back the way you came. Why can't you do that in life?"
He placed the joint between his lips, his two fingers letting go as he sucked it in, and then pinched it from his mouth. When he spoke, his voice was stifled; he croaked. "Well, 'cause, then we'd never get anywhere."
He passed her the joint, now half its size. As the smoke went in, it seemed to bundle her troubles all up in it, confusing them into smiles. "I guess that's true. But why do we need to get anywhere? And where are we going anyway?" She lay back on the bed an arm over her stomach as he took the last hit, and squished the rest of the joint into the ashtray on his bedside table.
"Where does this train stop and which station is mine?" She laughed, she couldn't help it. She couldn't stop picturing some train making stop after stop, while Bella never got off. Staying on the train might not be so bad. You get fed, you have a place to sleep, and you never have to make a decision.
"It's safe here." She sighed.
"Here?" he asked, sitting next to her on the bed.
"No. On the train, Pete. The train." She laughed all over again, turning to her side.
"Trashed Bella Swan," he said. "I like it."
She sat up and shoved at his thigh. "Nowhere's safe, really. Not unless nobody else is around, not unless you're alone."
"Aw, now. Don't take me down that road. It's too dark."
"Cobwebby," she said, nodding.
"Ratty." His tone had quieted. His eyes scanned her body before holding her gaze for a moment.
She studied him: his white-blond hair combed forward; his gray eyes; his long nose; his smile as he asked, "What?"
She liked that she'd known him since she was a little girl. How they used to run around playing Ghosts in the Graveyard with other kids. How when she fell down in the middle of the street he stopped to ask if she was okay even though it meant his being tagged.
She knew him.
No surprises.
Stretching her neck, chin up, she kissed him.
He kissed her back, hands on the sides of her arms. "Kissing's okay this time?" he asked.
She didn't answer, just kept her lips to his. Their kisses grew hungrier, and as if he needed more of her, he slid his mouth to her chin, her throat. He pushed her jacket down her arms.
She liked the way his face didn't scratch her, the way it was soft against her skin. And when he pulled her closer and lay sideways with her, his arms around her, his hands at her lower back pulling her hips against his, she liked how skinny he felt. Like she could get out of this any second if she wanted to.
His breathing was getting heavier, he rolled on top of her, and she didn't want to get out of it.
Faster and harder they kissed, their clothes beginning to come away.
Bella in only her panties, Pete in only his jeans, he got up and locked the door. She watched him pull a condom from a drawer. She watched him slip back the covers on the bed and gesture for her to get in.
And this was another chance to get away if she wanted to.
She didn't want to.
He took off his pants and underwear and climbed in with her, kissing her again. Kissing her all over. She felt good in her lower stomach, in her chest, and even in her head. For a few minutes, she felt good all over.
When he put the condom on, she could've stopped him then. But she didn't.
He was light on top of her. He wasn't putting all of his weight on her. And this was her choice. She wasn't being coaxed; she wasn't being lied to. She was making this decision without any of that.
He pushed inside her.
With a gasp, her head pressed back, sharp against the pillow.
The pain seemed to separate the smoke in her mind. Clear it. An open space right in the center where her thoughts converged. "Wait."
He paused over her. "What?" He kissed her.
"Stop."
"Why?"
"Just stop." She pushed against his shoulders and he moved off of her.
"What happened?" His breathing was still heavy.
She reached for her panties, swept them on. Her bra next.
"Did I hurt you or something?"
"No." She zipped and buttoned her jeans, and pulled her shirt over her head.
"Was it that bad?"
She paused to look at him. He looked dismayed. "No. Not you. Me. I'm that bad. I'm sorry." She threw her jacket over an arm.
As she twisted the door handle he said, "Swanny? Are you okay?"
Without looking at him she shook her head. She wasn't okay.
She searched out Rose finding her in the living room on Royce's lap, making out with him. Not wanting to interrupt, not wanting questions asked, she decided she would text her. Tell her she was sick and heading home.
Outside Pete called her name, catching up to her.
"You need a ride?"
"You can't leave your own party."
She continued on alone, undecided where she was heading, only knowing that she wasn't going home or to Alice's.
She wound up walking beneath Mrs. Cameron's three tall birch trees and knocking on her door at almost eleven.
As soon as she saw the older woman's face, Bella's eyes teared and spilled over. Mrs. Cameron hugged her warm and tight, letting Bella cry on her shoulder just like she used to. No questions. Only tears and comfort.
A hand swept down Bella's hair. "Looks like a hot cocoa kind of night."
A/N: Thanks for reading.
I was told once that Birch trees are often planted in threes for luck.