AN: Your reviews blow me away. Thank you all for taking this journey with me and with the characters. *big smooches all around*
Lots of music this chapter-starting with Metric's song, "Gold Guns Girls" which is what I quote at the beginning. Later, there's a trio of Dropkick Murphys songs which I highly encourage you to listen to (they're my version of Athair): "Flannigan's Ball," "Kiss Me I'm Shitfaced," and "Tessie" (the lyrics quoted later on are from "Kiss Me I'm Shitfaced"). Playlist is updated, of course.
Thank you to JosieSwan, beta extraodinaire, and Dixie, who is planning on writing the most hilarious parody of SotF-her ideas are better than mine could ever be :)
Chapter 26: Gold Guns Girls
I remember when we were gambling to win
Everybody else said better luck next time
I don't wanna bend like the bad girls bend
I just wanna be your friend; is it ever gonna be enough?
Bella
As much as I wanted to think she was dumb as a post, Renee could occasionally have a flash of brilliance—she also had the senses of a dog, and could sniff me out even when I was trying to avoid her.
"Isabella, you've been avoiding me." Her voice was reproachful as she approached behind me, as I stood in my bedroom, examining my reflection in the full length mirror. I hadn't wanted her to see me like this, because it would only encourage the kind of thinking that led to stylists and runways and self-centered, narcissistic models.
I grimaced, enjoying the way that my face contorted in the mirror and Renee's resulting frown. "Your face might freeze like that . . ." she began, but I didn't let her finish.
"I don't care," I snapped. I didn't care if I was ugly— after all, when you had the best plastic surgeon in Beverly Hills on permanent retainer, everyone was ugly in comparison.
"Regardless," Renee continued, the tightness in her voice betraying just how close she was to losing her temper, "you look lovely."
I tilted my head and tried to find what she saw, what Alice saw, even what Edward saw when he'd told me how strongly I resembled my mother. Even though I could admit that done up like this, in the midnight blue Hervé Leger dress that hugged every curve, and my hair falling in disordered but sleek waves around my face, I could pass as being cute. Maybe even pretty.
It was a good thing, I thought, that I'd decided a long time ago that the outside wrapping wasn't nearly as important as inner substance. Otherwise, I'd have spent my life disappointed that I hadn't won the genetic lottery the way Renee had.
"Thank you," I said stiffly. "And you're right, I've been avoiding you. So if you could leave, I'd really appreciate it."
"Did Alice pick this out for you?" Renee asked, fingering the ends of my hair.
I shook my head, annoyed despite my good intentions not to let her bother me. Why was it that everyone that just because I liked wearing jeans that I didn't have any style? I just didn't care about having style. But tonight, I'd decided not to go quietly, and to do that, I needed to make a statement.
Jeans, as much as I loved them, weren't exactly statement material. A bandage dress? That was a different story.
"Alice tried to help me, but she annoyed me so I made her leave," I finally said.
"She's got great style," Renee informed me—as if I didn't know this. I'd also have to be deaf not to hear the insinuation in her voice; Alice might have great style, but I definitely didn't.
Tough shit, I thought, going back to my reflection, I was happy with the way I looked tonight. There was just enough Bella in this that I didn't feel like a stranger was looking back at me.
"We need to talk about what happened before you . . ." Renee started out strong, but then hesitated, and then finally stopped.
"Before I got kidnapped? Yeah, I don't think that's going to be happening. And as much as I'd love to have a heart to heart right now, I'm running late." Dismissing her with my voice, I smoothed down my hair one more time and turned to leave, my heels clicking on the floor. Even with their boosted height, I still wasn't as tall as Renee and I hated that I'd have to crane my neck to meet her gaze. So I didn't even try; I just looked straight ahead and walked away.
She'd be angry, no doubt, but anger seemed to be Renee's typical emotion when confronted by her uncooperative and belligerent daughter.
I wasn't sure if the surprise on Edward's face as I descended the staircase and met the rest of the group at the bottom was because of the way I looked or just because nobody had told him that I'd changed my mind and was coming after all.
"Bella," Alice squealed as I hit the final step, "you look gorgeous. Did someone help you? Renee? Rosalie?" She glanced around, as if someone would step up and claim the style I was wearing as their creation, but nobody did. I tried very hard not to grind my teeth together as Alice's eyes widened when nobody stepped forward.
"No," I snapped. "Believe it or not, I actually picked this out myself." I loved Alice—she was my best friend after all, and the only family that I actually liked—but I was really beginning to hate the preconception that everyone had about me. Just because I didn't care about fashion or talk about it constantly or chose to wear jeans and sneakers didn't mean that I wasn't competent of styling myself halfway decently.
"Well," Edward cut in smoothly, apparently having recovered the gift of speech, "I think you look lovely. Not as lovely as you did in my boxers and that sweatshirt, though." The edges of his lips turned up in a smirk and I couldn't help but smile in response, no matter how annoyed I was at my mother and at Alice.
I didn't know how much Edward had told everyone about what had happened between us, but I knew the cat was partially out of the bag when we walked out the front door and I caught a glimpse of us in the hallway mirror. Edward and I looked like a couple, even though I didn't think he was necessarily trying to give that impression. Or if he was, he wasn't aware of it yet.
And as for me, I wouldn't mind if we did, but the truth was, I hadn't even begun to try to push us together in that way. Because I knew, despite all the ways that we'd grown together while in captivity, we were still very much two separate individuals. I wasn't sure what merging ourselves would look like—if it could even be successfully achieved—but I had realized something important.
First, Alice had been right; I wasn't going to be able to give up without an effort. If I'd been able to hold on during Jane's emotional carpet-bombing and through the possibility of being branded by Aro, I could risk the health of my heart.
Edward's hand rested on the small of my back, guiding me out the front door, his gaze solicitously reassuring me all while mischief glinted out of his green eyes, and I began to wonder if maybe this wouldn't be as impossible as I'd thought.
There was a limo in the front drive, and I hesitated for a second, my feet in their precarious heels slowing momentarily. It had all hit me. I was wearing a designer dress, high heels, taking a limo to a crowded, popular club, where we'd no doubt sit in the VIP section, sipping cocktails and looking down our noses at all the "normal" people assembled to bathe in the light of our too-bright splendor.
"Are you alright?" Edward asked, leaning in, the starched white collar of his shirt brushing against my cheek.
"I'm fine," I said. "It's just . . .I thought I'd left all this behind."
Edward opened the door to the limo. His words were so quiet I barely heard them. "You can't ever leave any of this behind."
I'd thought I had, but clearly that had only been my delusions working overtime. Now, I couldn't help but wonder if he was right; maybe this was just the price you paid to be born into a certain family. The privilege was something I'd have to come to terms with—using it without letting it use me in return.
The rest of the group slid into the limo, and as the doors were shutting, Alice spoke up. "So we're going to RoöBar again?"
Edward shook his head. "I've never liked it there. Too pretentious and too many photographers."
He didn't look at me, not a single glance in my direction, but I couldn't help but wonder if his dislike of photographers was somewhat magnified by the fact that he probably didn't want anyone taking pictures of us together. That would create all sorts of issues for him—and would raise questions that he didn't want to answer.
Of course, these were the same questions that I was dying for him to answer, but I'd figured out Edward Cullen enough to know he couldn't be rushed. If I ever wanted to hear what I wanted from him, it was going to have to be because he'd decided to tell me. Paparazzi pictures and a worldwide furor over who the new girl was by Edward's side was not going to improve an already complex situation.
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, telling myself this over and over, until I was almost convinced that he couldn't possibly be ashamed of me. There was no room for shame in this persona that was Edward Cullen; he would never stand for it. He'd cut any and all embarrassing segments out of his life like they were a gangrenous leg.
"Good," Rose spoke up for the first time, and I didn't miss the way that her body was curled up next to Emmett's much larger one—the way they seemed to exist in one space, breathing the same air, needing the exact same things to survive. In comparison, Edward and I seemed like we were from two different planets. I scooted farther apart from him on the leather seat, and hoped he didn't notice. "I hate how I feel like I'm being watched constantly." Rosalie shivered a little, as if she could feel the eyes on her now.
"Where we are going then?" Emmett asked.
"Port o' Call," Edward said with a smirk and everyone looked at him blankly.
"Is this somewhere that I've been?" Rose asked, and I wondered if she always spoke in that almost-lofty tone—if it was ingrained in her from all the years of having to play the part of Rosalie Hale, Celebutante Princess.
"I'm fairly certain that you've never been there," Edward said, laughing a little, as if he was enjoying his own private joke. But don't worry, it's quiet, relaxed, the people that go there aren't hoping for celebrity sightings. We won't be bothered." Again I was reminded that though my mother was a semi-famous ex-model, and was used to dealing with that inconvenience, Rose and Edward were in a totally different realm of celebrity.
"Besides," Edward continued, "it's kind of fun to pretend that I'm not who I am." His words are ironic and lighthearted and produce a round of polite laughter—because Edward Cullen had always been ridiculously vocal about how much he loved being himself, or rather the way he was—but there was a dark shadow in his eyes and I wondered, not for the first time, how he was dealing with all of this.
I couldn't exactly ask right now, but I made a mental reminder to at least attempt a real conversation with him that didn't involve sex. While we were being held, it was easy to talk because there wasn't much else to do. He hadn't exactly put up walls back up yet, but I knew it was only a matter of time.
The limo stopped, and the door opened. Rosalie, the last in the limo, was the first out and I heard her low rumble of laughter. Except that it didn't sound like any laughter I'd ever heard. Instead, Rose seemed to be doing an excellent impression of what a mentally ill, unstable psycho sounded like as they went off the deep end.
"If I were smart," Edward said, cleaning close, the sound rumbling through my ear like a cat's purr, "I'd just drive away now. Leave her here, alone."
When we followed Emmett out of the limo, I discovered what it was that had unhinged Rosalie. She was standing by the front of the long black car, her arms folded across the gold sequined tunic she wore, her face frozen in an expression of disbelief and incredulity.
"You can't be serious," she announced to Edward. "I'm not going in there. We'll all need a round of shots afterwards—and not of tequila."
Edward merely shrugged, and I followed his gaze to the nondescript, low-slung, admittedly dingy looking building. I didn't think that was what had caused Rose's animosity, though I was pretty sure she wasn't a fan of the dive bar in general.
What had pissed her off was the two or three dozen motorcycles parked in front the bar. And these weren't hip, street-ready Ducatis, accompanied by hot young studs in leather jackets and designer jeans—these were mean, brawling, I weigh 400 lbs and I'll kick your ass Harleys.
"The Port O' Call?" Alice asked skeptically, distaste wrinkling her nose. "Does that mean it's nautically themed? Pirates, maybe?"
"Alice, I don't think this is a theme bar," I hissed, watching her face fall even farther. She self-consciously smoothed her gray silk Alice + Eve dress, and I almost felt sorry for her -really for all of us- though this was definitely more my kind of place than Rosalie Hale's.
"Unless the theme is humiliation," Rose announced dramatically.
"God, Rosie. Get off your fucking high horse," Edward snapped. "I know you royalty don't like mingling with commoners, but think about it. We go anywhere else, there'll be pictures. Is that really what you want?"
Rose hesitated, and I almost saw in that instant how Edward had ruled her for so long, how he had manipulated and controlled her until there wasn't much of the Rosalie Hale that everyone knew left.
Edward must have seen it too because he swooped in for the kill shot, his voice hard and fast and relentless. "There'll be pictures. Pictures on the blogs. Pop Sugar. Perez Hilton. TMZ. Not with me and you, though they'll definitely mention I was there. No. It'll be you and Emmett. Emmett. My bodyguard. Is that really what you want, Rosalie?"
Rosalie licked her lips and the insecurity radiated out from her in waves. Emmett's arm wrapped protectively around her, almost as if he was shielding her from Edward. Except he wasn't shooting bullets at her; only words. I'd never really understand why my mother had always laughed lightly, talking about the jerks she'd dated, the confident, self-assured, egotistical, powerful men her friends dated. A man can't change his stripes. He won't.
He simply isn't capable, darling.
Just like Rose, I felt shell-shocked by the sudden return of an Edward that everyone here recognized. He couldn't have been more different than the sweet, mischievously-smiling Edward who'd hovered above me the night before, stealing kiss after kiss until I was weak and limp with lust.
But it was the same man. If Alice hadn't been there, meeting my panicked look with one of her own steady, gray-eyed gazes, reassuring me, holding me here, I would have bolted. Screw not losing. Screw courage. I couldn't do this; nobody could.
How could I ever hope to win where Rosalie Hale had failed?
Alice, of course, saved the situation. "Pop Sugar?" she said, just as lightly as Renee had to those women who'd show up, devastated and ruined by the too-powerful men they'd loved, "Perez Hilton? Edward Cullen, I can't believe you read the gossip blogs."
Flashing him a dazzling Alice-smile, she teasingly smacked him on the arm, and Edward melted, almost instantaneously smiling back and transforming himself back into someone I recognized. I told myself I wasn't jealous that Alice could do what I couldn't even begin to do.
I was lying.
Edward's transformation released the chokehold that he'd had over Rosalie's tongue and she turned to face him, shrugging off Emmett's protective arm like it was useless, when only moments before she'd been clinging to him like a lifeline. "Fine," she said, her blue eyes glowing in her white face, and I could see how angry she was—but I wasn't sure if it was at Edward or maybe just at herself. "You win. No cameras is better."
"I've been here before," Edward continued, his relaxed attitude settling back over his shoulders. "It'll be fun, I promise. The best part about this place is that they don't give a shit who you are."
As someone who had been attempting to escape who I was for their whole life, suddenly Port O' Call looked a whole hell of a lot more attractive than an overpriced cocktail lounge filled with celebrity groupies in cellophane skirts. And I was almost never identified as Renee Swan's less-beautiful daughter. Edward was probably instantly recognizable in most of the bars in town, and never mind Rosalie Hale, who had one of the most famous faces on the planet.
Alice, who I was sure had probably been craving seeing the celebrities and their clothes, hid her disappointment so well that I was probably the only one who noticed, but then Edward leaned closer and I barely heard his words. "And, on top of that, I have a friend I want you to meet who never would have come to RoöBar. I think you'll like him."
And just like that, my jealousy just evaporated, and it was good thing too, because Edward turned to me, intertwining his fingers with mine. "Bella? You game?"
Hope blossomed inside of me. How had he hid this side of him for so long? It seemed so obvious. He must have had to work really hard at the asshat act, and I felt a pang of sympathy for the apathetic, empty, miserable shell of a man he must have been before.
We entered the bar, Emmett's arm wrapped around Rosalie again—I wasn't sure if this was an act of a protective boyfriend, or of the bodyguard that he'd been, but decided it must be a combination of both—and Edward between Alice and I.
Edward might be blasé outwardly, but I could tell from the way that his fingers tightened around mine that he was a bit tense as the crowd around the bar eyed us, dressed like we were out for a night of high-priced vodka cocktails and gossip. Then they turned away, as if they could care less about a group of obviously snotty, soft celebrities. I let out the breath that I hadn't known I was holding.
The bar looked even worse from the inside than it had from the outside, and I could see Rosalie's eyes growing wide as they took in the grimy concrete floor, the walls covered in 25 years of cigarette ash, the bar that looked as if it had been cleaned with the same brown dishrag for its entire existence.
The only man in the room not wearing black studded leather or a sweaty red bandana stepped away from the bar. He was tall, and built like a freight train, but his height gave the impression he was still slender. Jeans and a plain white t-shirt were accompanied by a battered blue Red Sox cap pulled low over his eyes, almost completely obscuring his face.
I leaned in closer to Edward. "It would have been nice to warn Alice, at least. She must be wearing a couple of thousand dollars in designer merchandise, and she hates dressing wrong. Especially if she's being set up."
Edward chuckled and stepped forward to clasp hands with the blond guy. "Jasper," he said, turning to Alice, and I caught a glimpse of weirdly familiar tawny eyes under the brim of the red hat, "this is Alice. Alice, Jasper Whitlock."
The name sounded familiar and I looked at Alice's face closely to see if she recognized it, but though she seemed edgy there wasn't any flash of recognition in her eyes, and if Alice didn't know the man, then he wasn't anyone famous. Maybe he just had one of those common faces. Except, I thought, getting a second glance as Alice took his outstretched hand, he was gorgeous. That face was the kind that Michelangelo would have wanted to sculpt, all angled curves and bedroom eyes.
Alice seemed suddenly unsure, which was unlike her, and she took his hand so hesitantly, I would have thought that she wanted nothing to do with him. Usually, if Alice was dressed to the nines—and she was tonight—she could approach any man and charm him into anything she wanted.
With this Jasper guy, she just briefly gripped his hand and let it go, as if she didn't even want to touch him. I leaned closer to Edward, feeling his arm slide around my waist, and I decided it didn't matter if we looked like a couple. None of these bikers would be caught dead stealing a photograph of us and selling it to TMZ. So I tangled my fingers in the hair on Edward's neck and pulled him down towards me, as if I was angling for a kiss. Instead I murmured into his ear, "Where'd you meet Jasper?"
"He's a big fan," Edward said, taking my cue and grazing his lips over mine. "And since the feeling's pretty mutual, we kind of became friends. Then he moved next door to Esme . . ."
"Wait," I said a little louder than I'd intended, his words cutting through the fog that Edward's lips seemed to generate inside my brain, "he lives next door to Esme? And what do you mean, the feeling's pretty mutual? Who is this guy?"
Edward laughed then, the sound rippling out in natural waves. "Only you, Bella," he said as Jasper took Alice over to the bar to get her a drink. The air was full of smoke and some rabble-rousing hair metal band, obscuring us enough that I pulled on his arm to stop him getting any closer.
"I'm serious. Tell me. And you should have told her," I said, gesturing to Alice. "She's going to humiliate herself."
"I doubt it," Edward said with a smirk. "And if she doesn't know who he is, that's actually better."
I gave him a level stare. "I very much doubt that she'd agree with you. I know I don't. Just tell me."
"Jasper Whitlock's a pretty famous baseball player. Excuse me, ex-baseball player. He retired this year when he permanently damaged his throwing shoulder."
"Let me guess. He played for the Red Sox," I deadpanned, "and now you're going to give me some lecture about not knowing baseball."
Edward shot me a cocky grin as the bikers in front of the section of the bar we were approaching miraculously melted away. Edward might be right that no one here would sell us out to the gossip blogs, but they still had a healthy respect for who he was. I decided that his reputation might have more to do with his penchant for brawling and boozing than for his music.
"Two beers," Edward ordered from the sullen, tattoo-covered bartender. "Sam Adams." He turned to me, a rather sheepish grin on his face, which was even more bizarre than the blush he'd worn this afternoon. "Shit, I shouldn't have done that. I didn't mean to order for you."
"It's fine," I said hurriedly, giving him a bright smile. "I like Sam Adams."
Edward handed me the bottle, the condensation cold and slick on my skin. "I figured. You might not be from Boston, but you've adapted well."
I shrugged. He didn't need to know that most of my Boston mannerisms had been picked up from emulating him—including my fondness for Sam Adams.
"So, a matchmaking huh?" I asked as we decamped from our spot at the bar to a table in the far corner where Rose and Emmett had settled down. I didn't know what to say to him anymore; while we'd been captives, we'd both made an alarmingly regular habit of confessing the kind of secrets that you wanted someone to know if you weren't going to see the next day. And here we were, the next day, and neither of us knew how to talk normally.
Well, I didn't. I didn't think Edward had ever really known.
"I went to see Jasper yesterday, and he said something that made me think of Alice. Besides, he likes 'normal' girls," Edward said, as if I would know what he meant.
"Oh, so not groupies. Like you," I said, wishing the second I'd said it that I'd just kept my stupid mouth shut. He was making an effort, which was far more than I could have expected out of him, and here I was, baiting him with his past.
"Yes," Edward said slowly, drawing the word out as he picked at the wet label on his beer bottle.
Silence fell between us. I started to wonder why I'd ever been so egotistical to think that me and Edward Cullen could have any kind of relationship. We didn't have anything in common, and out of that prison cell, without our collective guilty consciences choking us, we didn't have anything to talk about.
The only good news, I decided as I glanced around the bar, noting Alice and Jasper, who were deep in conversation, was that there were almost no women here. The atmosphere between Edward and I might be stifled and tense, but at least he couldn't abandon me for some blonde slut.
"You heard what Carlisle said about the new album," Edward said, and I looked up in surprise to see him looking at me with amusement in his eyes-as if he knew exactly what I'd been thinking and found it particularly funny.
In all my stupid teenage girl-like angst about whether I should go or not, I'd completely forgotten that Carlisle had announced something about Edward's new album. I'd long since stopped expecting anything concrete to use for the blog out of my association with him that the subject change caught me by surprise.
"Are you sure you want to talk about this with me?" I asked.
Edward looked down, the shreds of his beer label drifting to the table. I noticed then that he'd only sipped at it, and it was still mostly full. He was silent for a long time, and I wondered briefly if he'd even heard me with the raucous music pouring out of the jukebox in the corner.
"Here's thing, Bella," he finally said, "I'm honestly not sure there's anyone else I can really talk to about it. You're kind of it."
I barely stopped my jaw from dropping. "But that means . . ." I started then hesitated. "That means that you didn't talk to anyone? Before?"
He shook his head.
To hell with it, I thought. "That must have been pretty lonely."
"And not very successful," he added ruefully. "Look at the result. But then, you already have. That's why you wanted to talk to me in the first place. At the concert."
"Everyone has a bad album," I said reasonably. "Look at Mariah Carey. She had a bad album and a bad movie."
The corner of Edward's lips turned up into a smile. "Are you comparing me to Mariah Carey?"
"Absolutely not," I said seriously, "you're much prettier."
"He really is," Rose spoke up, a glimmer of a smile on her face for the first time since we'd entered the bar. Emmett returned to our table with a beer for him and a squat glass filled with looked like a vodka and cranberry juice. She scooted closer, so we could talk, and I was surprised to see her such a friendly, open expression. Apparently she didn't begrudge me Edward at all, and who could really blame her? Edward didn't have the greatest track record, and regardless of how he was acting now, it was doubtful that it would be a permanent condition.
"So you're going back to the studio," Emmett said, taking a long swig of his beer. I couldn't help but notice that Edward's was still mostly full-I wasn't trying to monitor his alcohol consumption, but his behavior was so un-Edward like that I couldn't really help myself.
Edward nodded. "We were planning on it anyway, after the tour, and now . . .well. . it doesn't make sense not to."
I wondered if anyone besides me noticed how lost he looked; almost as if he didn't know what else to do with his time. But Rose was smiling affectionately, Emmett nodding encouragingly, and I realized that while they might have known him longer, they didn't know him better. Apparently, I was the only one who could really see beneath that thick skin of his.
"Are you sure you're ready?" I decided that since I was the only one who knew how upset, how lost he'd been, it was up to me to make sure he was making the right choice.
"Of course I am," he said like I was crazy to even question him, which while not surprising, still annoyed me.
"Just making sure," I snapped, drinking the rest of my beer. I hadn't eaten much dinner because I'd been trying to avoid Renee, and I could already feel the alcohol absorbing into my bloodstream.
I stood up to get another beer, and for the first time since we'd entered, felt the weight of all the male gazes on my body. It didn't matter, I told myself, I'd dressed this way to get attention -specifically Edward's- but I couldn't exactly be choosy about whose I attracted. I walked to the bar, and set the bottle on the grimy wood. "Another Sam Adams," I told the bartender.
When I returned to the table, Alice and Jasper had joined us. Alice was laughing, but I knew her so well I could tell there was a hint of something beneath the amusement-was it confusion?
I didn't get a chance to dig into what might be bothering her, because something much more familiar than the hardcore hair metal began to play over the sound system.
Our entire table froze, and I glanced down at Edward, who was lifting his still mostly-undrunk beer to his lips. I could see his hand clench white around bottle, and I swallowed hard.
It was a deliberate choice, there was no question of that, and seeing Edward try to bury his emotions under a layer of studious calm, I began to realize what he was struggling with. I couldn't do much to help him, but I could do this.
"Edward," I cried out, my voice excited and hopefully authentic, "I can't believe when we talked about my favorite Athair songs, I didn't mention this one. Flannigan's Ball has always been one of my favorites. Let's dance." I stuck out my hand toward him, setting my beer down on the table with a methodical click of glass on wood, the sound the opposite of everything I was saying.
Take my hand, I chanted, don't let them get the better of you.
You're better than this.
Better than the sum of your history and your anger and your reputation.
He gripped my hand like a lifeline, like I was pulling him from water that threatened to drown him. I led him to the dance floor, my heels clicking confidently on the concrete floor, my hips swaying in the skintight Hervé Leger dress. Every man wished he was Edward at that moment, being led to the dance floor by the expensive looking brunette. I tossed my hair, hoping that it looked just-fucked enough, and pulled Edward closer to me by the loops of his jeans. "Dance," I commanded in a low voice that only he could hear.
It took him a moment, and I knew from the mechanical, almost jerky movements that he began with that he was about fifteen seconds away from destroying whoever it was that had played this song. In another place, at another bar, it would have been different, someone picking an Athair song, but here, it was a deliberate slap in the face.
I gave Edward the brightest, most-Renee smile I could manage, and pulled him in even closer, encouraging him to do the same, and when his hands drifted low on my back, then to the top of my ass, I told myself that I didn't care if every biker in Hyannis Port knew I was sleeping with Edward Cullen.
Rosalie and Emmett were only moments behind us, and as Rose spun around, blond hair and diamonds flying, I felt Edward's muscles begin to relax a little more each moment that we turned the insult into a celebration.
It helped that at least whoever had picked the song had at least chosen one of Edward's best, and not one from the disastrous album we'd just been discussing. I didn't think anyone could have held his temper at bay if they'd done that.
By the end of the song, nearly the whole bar was singing the chorus, but when I looked up at Edward, his lips were clamped together, and the fear that he wasn't ready to make music again returned. Flannigan's Ball was the best of Athair's aesthetic—the drunken party song with the unmistakably Irish Boston edge. If he couldn't sing this relatively lighthearted piece of fluff, I didn't want to know how he'd possibly tackle one of the darker songs in his repertoire. Never mind how he could create something new that fit with the musician that he'd developed into.
The song ended, and another came on, and this time, my smile was genuine. Someone was amusing themselves, and it wasn't necessarily at Edward's expense anymore. They were poking fun with him, instead of at him.
From the first note, Edward knew which they'd picked, and I thought I saw him grimace, but the expression was gone before I could recognize it. He pulled me in close, until my head rested on his shoulder, and from the way we clung to each other, that we were involved was obvious.
Jasper was singing recklessly as he spun Alice around, Emmett eventually joined him, and the entire bar shouted the chorus.
When we reached the chorus breakdown, I tensed and so did Edward.
Oh fuck it. Who am I shitting?
I'm a pitiful sight
And I ain't all that bright
I'm definitely not chiseled from stone
I'm a cheat and a liar—no woman's desire
I'll probably die cold and alone.
I gripped Edward's shoulders, really hearing the words for the first time—though I had listened to this song hundreds of times over the years. It was a desperate man's plea for redemption, all cleverly designed as a passive aggressive ribald song. My heart ached for the man that he'd used to be, and I wished, not just for my sake, that this whole experience had helped him find something else. Something better.
At the end of the song, as Edward swore he would do better, that he would try to be the man the woman wanted him to be, the real Edward leaned in and brushed a kiss over my cheek.
As soon as he did it, I knew it wouldn't be enough. As the cheers and the song faded from the room, I decided that this was the moment that Alice had been coaching me for. The moment I found my balls and went for broke.
I gathered up what resolve I had, and kissed Edward back, but it wasn't anything like the chaste peck from when I'd given in. Instead, I cradled his face in my hands, looked directly into those ridiculously green eyes, and kissed him hard. My lips crashed into his, and for a second, I knew I'd thrown him off balance, because I was kissing him and he was simply letting me, but then he regained his footing and the kiss he returned was just as passionate as mine had been.
The chords faded around us, and finally Edward released me as the next song started.
"Someone's recognized Jasper," he murmured and I tried not to be disappointed. We'd only kissed—something we'd done dozens of times now—but we'd done it in public, even if it was in the middle of a public that didn't care. I'd put myself out there, willing him to follow me, and while he had physically, I realized that perhaps my tactics hadn't been all that brilliant. Edward had spent years kissing girls in bars. In retrospect, while I'd been making a statement, he'd been doing something he did all the time.
I swallowed disappointment as Jasper led the crowd in a rousing rendition of Tessie. Alice appeared to still not understand who he was, and I decided that it wasn't my place to tell her. After all, what did it matter if he'd been a baseball player in another life? He wasn't one now.
Edward had said while we were held captive that this was his favorite song of his, but there was an utterly neutral, mask-like expression on his face the entire song, as if it had been written and sung by a different man completely.
We danced for a few more of Athair's songs, the crowd around us joining in even, and by the end of the third song my hair was plastered to my damp neck and I could feel the sweat under the skintight fabric of my dress.
"I need some air," I announced to Edward, having to nearly shout in his ear as he led a group of terrifying-looking bruisers in a complicated sort of jig. But I'd kept a close eye on him, and though he seemed involved, there was something distant in his eyes and he still hadn't sung a single note of his songs.
He nodded absently and I escaped out a greasy looking door onto the back porch, which was thankfully empty. I breathed in deeply, feeling the cool salty air fill my lungs, and I glanced down at the old wooden decking, wondering if it would be too Britney Spears of me to take the ridiculously uncomfortable high heels off and be barefoot for just a moment.
"I won't tell anyone." I looked up to see Rosalie, her hair bright in the moonlight, walking towards me, her own pair of gladiator booties dangling from the tips of her fingers. "If you won't tell on me, either."
"Thank god," I said, slipping my own shoes off. I set them on the railing and turned towards her. "You needed air too?"
She just nodded, and I knew from the almost grim expression that she had come to tell me something that she didn't want to have to say.
"I know this is weird," I began, figuring that I should make some sort of attempt. The two beers I'd drunk had imbued the entire atmosphere with a hazy unreality, as if I couldn't possibly be standing here, talking to Rosalie Hale about the man that we'd both fallen for.
"It's not weird," she interrupted. "I don't think there's a word for it."
"You're probably right," I admitted wryly.
"I know I am. I've been debating if I should even say this to you, but I decided that I like you, and so I'm kind of obligated to say it."
"Say what?"
Rose leaned on the wooden railing, her eyes on something far in the distance—maybe on the red and white striped buoy in the bay. "I know why you fell for him. He's so easy to fall for. All that wounded angst. The charm. The emptiness that you're so sure you can fill."
"He's not empty," I snapped, kind of offended that she could even believe that. She'd been with him for months, and she thought he was empty? Edward's problem was the opposite; he was too full.
Rosalie laughed, but it was bitter and sad, as if she couldn't believe that I'd fallen for his line of crap. Except that I was one hundred percent certain that what I'd felt and what he'd told me while we were kidnapped was nothing like what he'd told her.
"I know you think that he's different with you, that what you felt with him was completely the opposite, but it's not. That's how he does it. He convinces every woman that they're different. That he can change with him. And guess what? He isn't. He can't ever be."
"I don't want to believe that anyone is too far gone to change," I insisted. "Edward least of all."
"Listen," Rose said, turning towards me, her eyes glowing like two blue flames, "you saw him with me earlier. You're a strong girl, you're brave, you've lived through a situation that almost nobody could. But don't let him defeat you. Not like he defeated me."
It was like hearing the worst voices in my head come to life; the secret, deepest fears that whispered as I lay awake next to him as he slept. I didn't want to hear her, but it was too late.
"You don't want to hate yourself. It's not worth it. He's not worth it."
I wanted to tell her that he could be different, and that an altered Edward Cullen would be worth every single bit of risk that I'd take to see it through to the end, but I already felt my resolve dissolving a little. Rose's experience was living proof of what he did to women. I had no evidence whatsoever that it would be different with me. All I had was faith, and while it still stood strong and I knew I would try my very best to stay with him through his transformation, I knew that it had been rattled by Rosalie.
"I hope you and I can be friends," Rose continued. "I've let Edward ruin a lot things for me; I won't let him ruin a potential friendship."
Even as I tried to shore up my defenses, I couldn't help but smile at her. She'd meant well, and it had taken a lot of guts and personal strength to warn me. For a girl that I'd only known through her pictures in US Weekly and OK!, it was becoming pretty clear that I'd misjudged her.
"I'd like us to be friends too," I reassured her. "Alice likes you, and not just because you're Rosalie Hale. She respects celebrities—likes looking at their clothes. But she wouldn't make a friend unless she genuinely liked you. That's enough for me. You disliking Renee is just icing on the cake."
Rosalie laughed again, but this time it was freer, as if a load had been lifted from her slim shoulders. "Renee's a piece of work, but Esme told me that she cried over you, when they raided the house and you and Edward were gone. She actually cried."
That was the kind of thing I didn't need to hear if I was going to stay strong against the onslaught of Renee's need for forgiveness and absolution for a lifetime of shitty parenting.
"She was probably upset that she'd have to plan a funeral and a wake," I said, this time the bitterness in my own voice. "She hates wearing black; she looks like living death in it."
Rosalie's face wiped clean, as if she didn't want me to see what she thought, but I wondered if she disagreed. "Once a model, always a model," she said lightly. "You ready to go back inside?"
I wasn't sure I was ready to face Edward again, with all the doubts newly-swirling in my mind, but I felt vulnerable telling Rose so I just nodded and slipped my shoes back on. I wished that I could slip the armor back on over my heart as easily as I had the shoes, but it was missing in action and I wasn't sure when I'd be able to find it again.
AN: Uh oh. Is trouble on the horizon? I think Rose did what she did here because she genuinely believes that Edward hasn't changed. She's just looking out for Bella. Sometimes someone can do the wrong thing when, from their perspective, it's the completely right thing.
Next chapter's title? Honestly, it isn't written, so I can't tell you, but it IS very Alice/Jasper oriented, so thats something right? Remember, darlings, review = a teaser!