Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns all.
Rated M for several reasons.
Chapter 20 White Demon
BPOV
My eyes open slowly and painfully, its light outside but the bedroom is still in semi darkness. My throat feels thick and I desperately need a drink of water but I can't move because Edward is clamped around me like a vice.
This is going to be all kinds of awkward, aren't guys supposed to dump you and leave? Its sounds harsh but a lot like ripping off a band aid. Even Jake almost got that right, he fucked me, dumped me, and then left. What then, is Edward's major malfunction?
Slowly and carefully I wriggle out of his arms and tiptoe into the bathroom, peering in the mirror. I wonder if I could recapture this look for Halloween next year? The wild knotted hair, red swollen eyes and pale crusty cheeks. I feel like he and I have been physically fighting all night, tired and achy, but in fact we didn't even speak, I just cried myself to sleep on his chest.
With heavy limbs I turn the shower on and step out of my clothes, brushing my teeth before I slide into the steamy enclosure.
The hot water is a small measure of bliss. Slowly working shampoo through my birds nest hair I think back over last night, his words and my reaction to them, wondering if I should explain myself or just let it go and tell him we'll see each other at Christmas and take it from there.
Dry and dressed again I open the door carefully, hoping that I don't have to make any kind of decision about anything for a bit longer, but no such luck, he's awake and clearly waiting for me.
Okay then, I'll have to wing it.
"Are you okay?" He asks quietly.
"Yes." I tell him, settling myself in the chair.
"I'm sorry." He says sincerely.
Alright, let's start there.
"What for?"
"Upsetting you, hurting you, making you cry. You never cry."
I eye him for a moment and then sigh.
"That's not true. I just never cry in front of you."
"Why not?" He wants to know.
Another sigh.
"We never had that kind of relationship. We were always comfortable with each other, and I loved that, but I didn't think that comfort would extend to overt displays of emotion or you listening to my problems. And you never shared yours with me either."
"I care about you Bella, I've always cared about you, there isn't now and never would have been anything I wouldn't have wanted to help you with."
And he means it, he really does. And therein lies the heart, oh how I wish I could laugh, of the problem. Do I tell him? What harm can it do? Maybe it will even trigger the leaving part so I can crawl under a rock and lick my wounds. I suppose it even qualifies as an act of aggression at this point, and I am feeling a little aggressive.
"I love you Edward. I've always loved you. How are you going to help me with that?"
Silence. I somehow thought there would be. Better out than in? I don't know. I don't feel any worse. Yet. But I can't say there's been any sudden surge of relief either.
"Jake loved me, in the beginning. But though I tried I could never return the sentiment. I was a complete bitch to him. I pushed him and pushed him, needing the proof that he loved me. And in the end I pushed him away. I wasn't even all that sorry.
He knew you were the reason and he absolutely loathes you for it."
I pause to see if he's got anything to say yet, but he hasn't.
"But I don't. There isn't actually much difference between you and me when it comes down to it. You didn't make me the way I am, I let that happen because it was easier than facing up to anything. Maybe we're both defective and neither of us deserves to be happy."
"Bella, that's not true, you deserve everything and I wish more than anything that I could be the one to give it to you, I want to love you, I want to make you happy, but I don't know how."
"You were making me happy. Until last night."
He groans, fisting a hand in his hair and tugging on it.
"I need some coffee, do you want some?"
He looks up, seeming surprised that I can think of something so mundane. Actually so am I a bit, but I really do need coffee and my being hopelessly in love with him is old news, at least to me.
"Em's going to kick my ass when he finds out I'm still here."
Silently I point to the A4 sheet of paper taped to the inside of the bedroom door.
'B, I'm here when you need me, R x
E, when Cygger's is done with you your scrawny ass is MINE, Fists'
"Ah." He says, shaking his head and almost smiling at Em's childhood nickname.
"So, coffee?"
"Might as well, thanks."
I pad downstairs, the house is unnaturally quiet and I wonder if they've gone out . . . .
No, they're both in the kitchen reading, looking up in coupley synchronicity when they sense my presence in the doorway.
"I'm only allowed to say sorry." Em says, glancing at Rose who scowls at him. "And I am, very."
"And I'm avid to know what's going on but calling on all my stores of patience." She says. "Do you need anything?"
"Two coffees, if that's okay? We're talking."
"Just brewed a fresh batch, help yourself, there are croissants in the oven too."
"Thanks Rose."
When I return to the bedroom the shower is running so I set his coffee on the night stand and open the curtains before settling down to sip mine. I honestly don't know where we go from here or even if there's anything else we need to say to each other. I've told him how I feel and he's told me how he doesn't and in all probability only one of us was surprised. Am I angry with him? I think so, but it's hard to put a label on how I feel, I'm all over the place like Cincinnati's sales chart. We could have kept things as they were, it wasn't me that pushed for more, I know I was an idiot to let myself get sucked back in, but even Rose thought things were different this time.
He says he wants to love me and damn it, that hurts, because I wanted to love Jake too and look how that worked out.
The bathroom door opens and he climbs back on the bed, fully dressed but hair still darkened with water.
"Thanks." He murmurs, toasting me with his coffee.
Neither of us seems inclined to say anything so I pick up my cell and start searching for flights, I should head back to New York but I still have a few days off, maybe I could go somewhere else? Yeah, where? I have a life in New York and family here, where the hell else am I going to go? With a sigh I start booking myself on the four pm flight back to the city, I've got a couple of hours to get my shit together and catch that one.
"What are you doing?" He asks.
"Booking a flight home."
"Please, don't."
I stop what I'm doing and look up to find him watching me.
"You think I'm coming to Kentucky with you? Are you insane?"
"Yes, no, I don't know." He growls, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just, if we leave this room now, the way things are. Jesus! I am shit at explaining what's going on in my head!"
"Maybe you shouldn't try. This." I indicate between us. "This worked when we didn't talk about it. And I know most women would say hands down that they'd rather have the truth but, for now at least, I'd much rather you'd kept your fucking mouth shut and just faded into the background. That I was ready for, could have handled."
"I don't even know where to start with what's wrong with that statement." He sighs. "I never meant to be such an asshole to you, ever, if I'd known . . . ."
"You'd have run away a lot sooner?"
"I am not running away from you."
"Fucking hell Edward. What is the point of having a post mortem on this? You wanted us to stop whatever it was we were doing, fine, we're stopped. Let's just leave it there, everything will sort itself out eventually, it always does."
"I can't. I've been thinking about it all night, even before you told me, what you told me."
"That I love you Edward? What's there to talk about if you can't even say that out loud?"
"Fine. You love me." He states, eyes boring into mine.
I look away first, suddenly finding my own almost empty coffee mug extremely interesting.
"You love me." He says more gently. "And I don't know how I feel. I have the emotional intelligence of a gnat, we know this. But, please, let me try and explain what I do know. Please, I don't see how it can make this any worse."
"You wouldn't." I snap.
"Obviously not." He huffs in frustration.
We shouldn't do this, it's just turning hurt into anger and anger into something that we all end up suffering from. He was right about that last night, there's too much to lose. The silence stretches out and when I've exhausted the distractive properties of my mug I force myself to look at him again. Of course he's waiting for me, we might be useless at communicating but that doesn't mean we don't know each other. There's a painful irony in there somewhere. And I know that set of his jaw. Determination in the face of avoidance.
"You are a selfish asshole. What about what I want? What good is 'Explanation 2.0' going to do me? I've got no axe to grind about the past but this last couple of months, you were that Suaveward, you led me on and then you dropped me on my ass. Who says I even give a shit about what's going on in your head right now!"
"I guess I deserve that."
"You guess, you mean you aren't sure?" I sneer.
"I'm trying to make this right! What do you want from me, blood?"
The anger hisses out of me like air from a punctured tire.
"I want last night not to have happened." I admit truthfully, letting the sad wash back over me. "I want not to have to deal with this, feel like this."
"I can't take back what I said Bella, or how badly I said it. And I can't take back how I've behaved. But I can take a risk and give you what's in my head, all of it, no matter how much it fucking scares me."
"What do you have to be scared of?" Without the anger that sounds petulant, but it's still a valid question and so I have no shame in asking it.
"Losing you completely."
"Then surely it's safer to say nothing?"
"We did safe Bella." He says gesturing around the room. "And look where it got us."