Hi wonderful people. Thank you for all your kind words. You make me smile. You make me think. You make me want to write more.

Word Prompt: Punctual

I dropped today's "scenario prompt" because it's too specific and can't fit into this story in any way that would make sense.

Something True

Punctual

This Winter

She throws her phone on her bed only to pick it up again. Pulling up Edward's number, she calls him.

Before he answers she's boiling under her skin, but when she hears his enthusiastic "Hey!" she's caught off guard and gets choked up.

"Um..."

"What? What's the matter?"

She paces to her window and back toward her closet holding the phone so tight to her ear it's painful.

"Bella-Bella," he whispers. "What's wrong?"

"You went to his house." She swallows. "You told me you wouldn't do anything."

"How—he contacted you?"

"I can't tell you because I can't trust you, can I?"

"What did he say to you? Did he threaten you?"

"Edward, I told you why I didn't want you to do anything. You said you wouldn't. I thought of all people, you would - you're the one person-"

"Bella..."

"Why did you do this?"

"I reacted. I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry."

"Do you know what sorry means to me? He told me he was sorry a lot. My mom did, too. That's what sorry means to me. Nothing."

The other end is silent.

"I just want for once someone to listen to me and just... listen to me!"

"I'm going to - I'm coming over."

"No."

"Then will you come over here?"

She doesn't answer. She pauses for a few breaths, a sniffle.

"Bella, I'm coming to get you, okay?"

"No."

"Say, yes. Please."

"No. Stay away."

She shuts off her phone and throws it on the bed, this time staring at it for a few seconds as her breathing calms. She resolves to leave her phone where it is.

She forces herself to study, her British Literature text and notes strewn across her bed. Like fish to bait, her mind is drawn to memories and thoughts she wants to forget. Forgetting is impossible. The conversation with Edward and thoughts of him and Riley may as well be printed in the textbook for all the good Shakespeare is doing to distract her. She slams it shut and tosses it aside.

She takes her sketch pad and pencils from her desk, sits in her chair and starts to sketch the castle from Hamlet as she imagines it. For a little while she's able to focus on her studies, at least through her drawing, but then her fingers seem to move the pencil at will as her mind wanders.

She tries to consider what is right and what is wrong and how she should feel versus how she does feel. Maybe some girls would like it if a guy did something like this for them, but she doesn't. She asked him not to. He said he wouldn't. How is she supposed to feel about that? How she does feel is betrayed, disappointed, and afraid. Afraid that, like her mother and Riley, Edward will say one thing and do another again and again.

It's almost ten when she turns her phone on. A message from Edward is waiting. Tentatively, she listens.

"Bella." A long sigh. "I'm sorry. I really am. But listen, you can't put all your trust in one person. That isn't—it's not fair. People mess up, Bella. I mess up. I can't be-" there's a pause and his voice falls quieter; it cracks. "Just please talk to me because this is killing me."

She stares at her phone. She moves to the window. No visible stars. Why can't there be stars? Peering out at the dull, blank sky, she calls him. As it rings she closes her eyes.

"Bella?"

A pause in the dark.

"Talk to me."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay... come over."

Within ten minutes her dad's voice floats up to her telling her that Edward's here. When she gets to the door, they're releasing a handshake.

"Kind of late to be stopping by, isn't it?" her dad asks him.

Edward isn't smiling. He looks noticeably upset, probably not the best way to be introduced to her dad.

"I asked him to come," Bella says, and then to Edward, "Hi."

He lifts a hand, a forced smile at the corner of his mouth.

"No Biter?"

He shakes his head.

Pulling her coat on, Bella looks at her dad until he walks away.

She steps outside with Edward. He tugs on the collar of her coat. "I'm sorry." He whispers it, probably so her dad can't hear. "I didn't think you would find out. I'm sorry. He called you?"

"He told me he wants it left in the past and so do I. That's what I want. I told you that."

He presses his forehead to hers. "I know. That's it. It's out of my system. I won't do it again."

Pulling away from him she calls to her dad that she's going out.

"Home by midnight." He walks to the doorway and holds the door open.

"It's Friday," Bella says. "And Rose's curfew is two."

"One," her dad says. He aims a glare at Edward. "I like punctual. Punctual gets on my good side."

Edward says they'll be back by one.

After the door closes behind them, he picks up Bella's hand and links their fingers.

The air is frosty, but luckily it isn't snowing. They walk aimlessly into the night, streetlamps far and few between. The neighborhood's old trees filter out what little glow there is.

Bella stops at the elementary school, eyeing the fence, searching for the playground on the other side. There is no lighting beyond the fence at all so she can't see the structures, the bars, or the slides, but she knows they're there. She hears the wind clinking the chains of the swings against metal.

"Come on." She lets go of Edward's hand, grabs onto the chain link fence and begins to climb. Once on top, she looks down at Edward. "Come on."

"You want me to climb over the fence?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I just do."

"Good enough for me." He hoists himself up.

On the other side Bella leads him across asphalt to the playground. She finds the metal dome climbing structure and makes her way to the top.

The very top is shaped like a pentagon. Edward sits on the bar beside her, their legs dangling down the middle. The metal is cold through Bella's jeans.

"Don't you ever just want to be a kid again?" she asks.

"What age would you be?"

"Nine."

"Why nine?"

"It's the last age I can remember feeling like a real kid." Bella holds Edward's gaze for a moment before asking, "How did you know where to find him?"

He takes her hand in his and looks down at it as he toys with her fingers. "I asked Rose about the rumors and she told me his name. It was easy to find where he lives. He's listed."

"What happened?"

"He opened the door. I told him some things. I said I had a message for him—gave him the gift of my right hook." He punches his right fist into his palm with a smack. "He went down; I left."

"He didn't fight back?"

"Nope. He took it."

Dropping her gaze, Bella attempts to stop her smile. She fails. Edward ducks his head to meet her eyes. He smiles, too.

"It feels good, doesn't it?'

She nods.

"Come here." He tugs on her coat sleeve. "Come here."

She scoots closer to him.

With his hand to her face he kisses the opposite cheek three, four, five times. "Forget about him," he says into her ear, pushing hair aside and kissing her earlobe. "Can I take you out this weekend?"

"It is this weekend."

"Tomorrow, then?"

His breath in her ear raises chills all over her body, the good kind, the tickling kind. "Mm-hmm."

He kisses down to her lips as his fingers graze her thigh stopping at her hip. He flattens his palm there, rubbing back and forth. "You gotta believe in love, Bella, because you are worth loving, and you are worth loving right."

Without warning tears spring to her eyes, the good kind. She grips the side of his arm—his thick coat. Breaking the kiss she drops her head to his shoulder.

His arm circles her back. "Bella?"

"Take me out tomorrow," she says into his shoulder, gripping his arm even tighter, as if a tight enough hold will keep him from floating away. A part of her believes that if she looks up, he'll be gone. "And please don't cancel."

"Forget about him," he says, nudging her face with his to kiss her lips. "Forget about him."