Part Six

sonder: the realization that each passerby has a life as vivid and complex as your own.

LXXI.

do you feel like a young god?
you know the two of us are just young gods
and we'll be flying through the streets with the people underneath
and they're running, running, running again

By Friday evening, spring in Forks had proven itself to be overrated, especially in its early stages. The rain had returned and it was as cold as ever. Bella didn't know why she was still surprised.

Raindrops splashed in the buckets strewn across the living room, and Bella tried not to let her OCD get the better of her. Paul was having someone come over tomorrow morning to patch up the roof, but tomorrow could not take long enough. Still, though, the thought of having her broken house being taken one step forward into becoming a home made her happy. Paul was remembering what she wanted. He was remembering to make an effort. Loving him didn't feel like an obligation or a chore.

She looked for food in the refrigerator, and she thought she had won when she seemed to find leftover soup in a Tupperware, hiding behind the gallon of milk. She reached far back into the fridge and pulled it out, but when she removed the lid, her olfactory system was assaulted. It sent her running to the bathroom.

Paul, who sat on the couch in the living room, got up and immediately comforted Bella as she kneeled over the toilet and puked her guts out. He kept her hair behind her shoulders and rubbed her back.

"This sucks," she muttered. "It's not even the morning."

He chuckled. "Need anything from the store?"

"Soup," she said weakly.

"Okay," he replied. "I'll be back."

"Hurry back."

He got his keys, put on his jacket and shoes, and left the house.

Paul ended up at the Thriftway, but in the time it had taken him to get from his house to the store, he had completely forgotten about the soup. The awful thing was that he knew he forgot, but he could not—for the life of him—remember what he was forgetting.

Even though he liked to think of himself as a grown man with grown responsibilities and a baby on the way, somewhere in his head still lived the distracted, forgetful, aggressive kid that hadn't outgrown ADHD. No matter how many times his father had beaten him, he hadn't knocked the disorder out of him. In truth, ADHD wasn't something that somebody could outgrow. This fact hit Paul now as he wandered the Thriftway, aisle to aisle as if he didn't work there nearly every damn day. Then again, most people knew how to manage themselves. Paul was probably just stupid, and he couldn't just make himself the poster child for ADHD—it wouldn't be fair.

Fuckin' idiot, he thought to himself. Bella asked you to get one thing and you fucked that up.

He patted down his jacket pockets, and then his pants pockets. Aside from his keys, they were empty. Fuck! You left your goddamn cell phone at home.

Paul was about to give up and go home when he walked past the wall of flowers again. He couldn't remember what Bella wanted in this moment, but he did remember that she had loved the red roses he'd bought her a little while back. He had seen Leah that night, and since Leah was always, always right, she'd managed to make him feel awful about himself. He'd been ignoring Bella at the time, but when he had gotten her those roses, it hadn't made everything better, but it had fixed a couple things on the spot.

He knew she'd be mad this time, but this would have to mend a couple things right on the spot this time, too.

He got the prettiest bouquet of roses and as he was about to check out, he noticed giant glowing numbers behind the cashier, a jaded co-worker that he didn't particularly like. The CashBall prize was huge this time around—250 million dollars. The winning numbers would be announced on TV tonight.

What the hell, Paul thought.

In addition to the roses, Paul bought a lottery ticket and headed home.

Initially, Paul had expected Bella to be rather livid with him. Then he remembered that she wasn't Leah, but he found himself caught in the crossfire, anyway.

She just looked him up and down when she realized that all he had bought for her were roses. She was more annoyed than angry and at first, she tried to blame it on the hormones, but even Paul knew that would be bullshit.

Her voice was low and calm when she spoke. "I asked you for literally one thing," she said, "and you couldn't even get that right."

He didn't say anything at all, but his internal monologue was going wild. Fuck, you brought this on yourself, he thought. You played yourself.

"I asked for soup," she said slowly. "You know, so we don't have to starve? You bought fucking roses. I already told you that flowers are cheesy."

It was like she had completely missed his romantic gesture.

Dumb-ass, he thought to himself. Romance doesn't feed the baby.

All he could do was offer her the roses, but when he stuck them out, she swatted them away. They landed on the living room carpet, falling out of the wrapping and making a mess.

They hadn't been wildly expensive, but she immediately regretted what she'd done. She quickly squatted down and started to pick them up again, wishing she hadn't lashed out over virtually nothing (but still, everything).

He also squatted down and began to help her pick up the roses. He suddenly paused, staring at her, and she peered up at him, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear.

"What?" she asked him.

"I wanna marry you."

She just furrowed her eyebrows. "You forgot to buy soup when I clearly asked you to," she reminded him. "You'd probably forget to show up to the altar."

"No, Bella," he said. "I just wanna marry you. For real."

She just picked up the flowers and stood up, making her way to the kitchen to find a vase. "You're so dumb sometimes," she said. "No."

Paul followed her to the kitchen. She found something that would make do a vase and began to fill it with tap water.

"Why?" he asked her.

"You're aware that 'no' doesn't mean 'convince me,' right?"

Paul sighed. "I'm not that dumb, but I know you'd be up to the challenge. Would you marry me, Bella? Please?"

The last time someone had asked her to marry her, they had ended on ugly terms.

Then again, Paul wasn't Edward. He was nowhere near him.

"Why can't we just live together forever?" she asked, dumping the roses into the vase.

"'Cause forever just ain't long enough, baby girl," he replied. "And besides, I don't want our kid being some bastard."

"Were you a bastard?" Bella wondered.

He shook his head. "Parents divorced, though."

"I was almost a bastard," she said. "My parents got divorced, anyway. See?"

"See what?"

"You don't have to worry about divorce if you never get married in the first place."

He just laughed. "Bella, you're hurting my soul here. Don't you wanna do one thing in order?"

She dramatically dropped her jaw. "You care about order?" she asked. "What have we been doing out of order, then?"

"Well, uh, we conceived before we even really knew each other."

She shook her head. "That's inaccurate. We very well established my middle name at that gas station where you almost blew us up because you felt compelled to smoke a cigarette. What's yours, again?"

"Don't have one."

She smiled. "I already knew that. See? We know each other."

"C'mon, Bella, why do you hate the idea of marrying me so much?"

"It's not so much about marrying you," she clarified. "Marriage itself is a piece of paper. An expensive piece of paper with tons of legalities to go through."

Paul then removed his wallet from his pocket and took out the lottery ticket. He held it up. "The CashBall numbers drop on TV tonight," he told her.

"So you wasted two dollars on a lottery ticket when you could have bought two cans of soup?" she asked, an eyebrow raised. "You know, marrying you really doesn't sound like a good idea now."

"If I became a millionaire," he said, "would you marry me?"

She glanced at the ticket and then shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"God, Paul, I'll marry you," she said, exasperated. "If you become a millionaire, I'll marry you—someday."

"That's all I wanted." Then he leaned in to kiss her, but she took a step back.

"Might throw up again," she warned him.

"Damn, okay then."

She left the kitchen and found some shoes to slip on. Then she grabbed her jacket and picked his keys up off the coffee table.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"To the store," she replied. "You're cute, but not cute enough to make me forget about the soup."

"Don't crash my car again," he called to her.

She just smirked at him. "I'd only crash it if you were in it," she said playfully.

Paul was sitting on the couch with Bella later that night. She had gotten her soup, so she was content. She had her legs laid over Paul's, and life wasn't amazing, but it sure as hell wasn't awful, either.

They were watching the news, and just as Bella had predicted, the media was all over the murder of Jasper Cullen, who was commonly (and repeatedly) referred to as a University of Washington chemistry major who grew up in a "loving, supportive" household. The only pictures they showed of him were ones where he wore a cap and gown. They touched upon his parents' reputable occupations—a doctor and an interior designer—as well as Edward's status as a Dartmouth pre-med student and Emmett's status as a respected lawyer in Port Angeles.

Paul scoffed, and it was like he could read Bella's mind. "Some white boy gets killed for fucking with the wrong people and the whole country is a mess, acting like his family's the Obamas," he said. "Have it be an Indian in the same situation and watch nobody make a sound."

Bella nodded. "It's just dumb."

"Or better yet," Paul added, "make sure to call that Indian a thug. Don't even get a decent picture of him, either, 'cause Indians don't graduate high school, right?"

"You said Jasper was fucking with the wrong people," she said. "Did you know him?"

"He used to help the chop shop a little," he replied, "but he wasn't shit. I didn't know him too well. He must have been a real piece of shit, though. The kid got shot right on his front porch."

Bella tried to act like she was hearing this for the first time.

Suddenly, Edward Cullen's face appeared on the screen. Bella began to boil with anger. Edward, looking as awful as she imagined him, spoke of his brother to a reporter, saying how he wished he could have protected him.

Bella sighed deeply. "He's always been so full of shit," she said.

"Is that—?"

She nodded, her eyes still on the screen. "That's my ex. Would you mind turning on something else?"

"Yeah, fuck all this." He switched the channel. Family Feud was on.

"Thanks, babe."

"You're welcome, babe."

It actually turned out to be the end of the Family Feud episode. The credits quickly scrolled down the screen, and the news seemed to be back on, but it was because the lottery numbers were about to be announced. Priorities.

Paul took the ticket back out of his wallet and peered down at it. The numbers were being announced agonizingly slow by a local reporter as if people actually won these things.

Paul matched the first two numbers and he didn't freak out that much. Then he matched the next two and his heart began to race a little. When he matched the fifth number, he thought he was dreaming.

Then they announced the sixth number.

His ticket was a perfect match.

He gasped, jumping up from the couch. "Holy shit," he breathed. "Holy shit."

"How many numbers did you match?" Bella asked, slightly disturbed by how fast he had gotten up.

He showed her the ticket. "All six of them."

She took the ticket from him. "No way," she said quietly. She looked down at the numbers, and then back at the TV screen. Then she checked again. And again. She gave the slip of paper back to him.

"Paul," she whispered, her eyes wide. "You just won 250 million dollars."

"We just won 250 million dollars," he corrected her.

"We just won 250 million fucking dollars."

Paul scrambled to the junk drawer in the kitchen in search of a pen. He scratched it against a stained napkin until it worked, and with a shaky hand, he signed the back of the lottery ticket and put it back into his wallet. It was his. It was fucking his.

He went back to the living room and took Bella into his arms, kissing her hard.

"We're gonna be alright, baby girl," he told her in her ear. "We won't have to worry anymore."

She smiled up at him. "So what are we gonna do now, millionaire?" she asked.

He shot her his devilish grin. "We're gonna make sure you hold up to your promise."

The number-one, entirely unspoken, universal rule for winning the lottery was that the winners were not supposed to brag about it. They were not supposed to run off and tell everyone they knew. They were supposed to remain composed and quiet. They were supposed to live life as normal as they possibly could for a short time.

Paul had never been one to follow the rules, but this all changed tonight. He didn't want to wreck this, and neither did Bella. Not for the sake of their kid.

With some of the money that they had been saving up for emergencies for a month now, Paul and Bella headed out to the only pawn shop nearby, in Port Angeles. The shop closed late, and when they arrived, it was as active as ever. The lights were bright and loud music was being played over the speakers.

Bella squeezed Paul's hand as they walked over to the jewelry counters, and when she looked up at him, she saw the determination right on his face.

"Whatcha lookin' at?" he asked her as he stared down at the various rings.

"I love you," she told him softly.

"I love you, too," he replied. "Now let's get you something pretty."

It turned out that the only engagement ring they could afford for her right now was an unpretty, cheap one with a thin band and a tiny diamond. Bella didn't care, though. As they exited the store, she couldn't keep her eyes off her left hand. Paul promised to get her something better in a little while, and while she definitely believed him, she didn't even care. She was happy.

With his left hand on the steering wheel of his car, the busted little blue one, and his right hand squeezing Bella's thigh, Paul drove them back to La Push. Some indie pop singer with a smoky voice crooned over the radio, and it just felt right.

At some point, Bella unbuckled her seat belt and leaned over in the car so she could be closer to Paul. She kissed him multiple times on the corner of his mouth and then wrapped her arm around his stomach. Then she nuzzled her head into his shoulder, closed her eyes, and just breathed. She breathed in fresh beginnings, and she breathed out the ugly endings.

The badlands didn't feel so bad now.

A/N: Hopefully, I'll slow down a little with my updating speed. I'm just really nervous about taking a long hiatus this far into the story because of time-consuming things irl. Bear with me. The next chapter should be pretty long, which is a good thing. For those who have been missing Leah (including me), you guys are in luck.

Thanks as always,

HS