A/N: I suck at these things, so happy reading and thanks to the same people I thank every week. They know who they are. And to all those who read/review/fave/add to alerts etc. I appreciate it.
Btw, this isn't edited.
Hoodwinked
Chapter 29
Edward wakes before I do, clumsily moving around in the darkness of his room until I'm pulled from my dreamless sleep along with him.
I sit up groggily and feel around for my phone; switching it on when I find it. It's just past 4am.
Edward hits the lights and I'm immediately blinded by the glare. "Morning, sunshine," he says, his voice adorably husky and throaty, and I squint up in time to see a sleepy grin pull lazily across his face.
I return it before stretching my arms above my head and yawning. "God, it's still dark outside."
"Lights on or off?" he puts to me.
"Huh?" I ask vacantly, just as his meaning becomes clear. "Oh..." I break into an immediate smile. "I don't mind."
"On then." He waggles his eyebrows and takes a step toward me when I immediately jump up from his bed.
"Just let me brush my teeth," I insist, horrified by the thought of my breath, and making a beeline for his bathroom, I grab his hand and drag him after me.
"Fuck, I'm horny." He groans from behind a mouthful of toothpaste.
I only roll my eyes and continue scrubbing, but it's not as if it isn't glaringly obvious, or anything. His boxers are strained, and I'm fairly certain he was poking into me all night.
"How many time has it been?" he asks, after rinsing his mouth out with water and spitting it out in the sink.
I hold up three fingers and follow suit.
"That's all?" he says, openly surprised; though, why I have no idea.
"That's all," I say, drying my face with the hand towel he left hanging over the vanity.
"I'm fixing that shit, right now," he practically growls, and bending down, he throw me over his shoulder.
"Edward!" I burst clinging to the back of his shirt, but my concern for him quickly fades. He barely flinched.
Carrying me back into his room, he drops me to his bed and leans over me on his hands and knees. "When are you gonna try on top, boog?" he says with a cheeky grin.
"When it's been more than three times," I say wryly, tugging his shirt over his head. "Don't forget, this time," I remind him of what happened during our last early morning romp, as he merges his mouth with mine and any further objections are lost.
"I won't," he mumbles against my lips, his voice quickly turning rustic, and making similar work with the clothes I slept in, he relaxes his weight over me.
I'm not sure whether it's due to the early hour, but Edward goes for a lot longer than the previous three times. It makes me almost glad that I got somewhat of a reprieve in between. He was careful the first time, but with each subsequent round he loosened more with me, and this time, I'm positive he's moving deeper than I've ever experienced.
It's reminding me again that I'm still a novice, and that my body hasn't fully adjusted to him just yet. Still, it's no longer painful, and that surprises me.
By the time we're both coming down, he's out of breath and sweaty, and while I don't mind his sultry-hot body slipping against mine, he's still clearly in pain.
It's thick behind his exhausted, completely-too-satisfied moan as he rolls to his back and pulls me with him.
"Take it easy today, okay?" I say, draping my arm across his chest, but my concern and exasperation for him only comes across as jaded in my still-breathless state.
"Yes, boog," he humours me, forcing his laughter beneath his breath when I elbow him.
"I'm serious!"
"You're getting screechy again," he opens his eyes and brings it to my attention, but he's only messing with me. He's too mellow for anything else, right now.
I take a breath, releasing it with a groan that's overrun with the usual rush of emotion he brings out in me. "I'm not screechy," I say with a sigh, closing my eyes. He clamps my nose, and I smile to myself despite myself. "Are you ever not going to do that?"
He answers with a soft chuckle and flicks my brow instead. "Hey?"
"Hmm?" I reply, squinting back up at him.
"Let's aim for ten by the weekend." He winks.
I scoff, but I'm smiling along with him regardless. "Sure."
"I'm serious."
"I believe you—on one condition," I amend, propping my elbows against his chest to fully meet his gaze.
"What?" he asks suspiciously, even as the remnants of his grin refuses to fade.
"Stay at my house tonight."
A cynical utterance immediately bursts from. "Your old man won't allow that."
"Ask him."
He glances at me for a moment, his brow knotting further. "Yeah, that's not going to happen—he catches me with you and he'll shoot my dick off."
I laugh lightly and nudge him. "He offered, didn't he?"
"It was a pity invite. I'd just had the shit beaten out of me," he answers, running his fingers over his forehead and into his hair. "Getting pretty attached to me, though, aren't you, boog?" he decides to tease me, as I immediately snort.
"Who made me sleep over here every night since Thursday?" I raise my brows to further my point.
"You wanted to." He moves to clamp my nose again when I intercept him.
"What are we gonna do tonight?" I ask softly, attempting to keep my thoughts away from any what ifs.
What if I can't get him out of the house before his father catches up with him.
"What do you want to do?" he puts back to me, his voice dropping gently as he reaches up and tucks my hair behind my ear.
"I don't mind."
"We'll figure out something when I get home," he says, and taking a momentous breath he releases it into a long-winded groan and closes his eyes.
"Still tired?" I ask gently; though, it's not really a question.
Drawing his breath, he releases it drowsily and tightens his arms around me. "Stop talking."
I do.
We both fall back to sleep, and when I wake a second time, I'm alone in his bed with the sound of running water echoing along the walls. Edward's in the shower, I quickly realise, and pulling myself up, I hastily throw my clothes back on and head into the kitchen to make coffee.
He follows me a few minutes later, still dripping wet and with a towel wrapped loosely around his hips.
"You can make me breakfast too if you want," he hints with a deliberately charming smile after I slide a mug in front of him across the counter.
I poke him teasingly in the stomach. "I thought about it, but you have nothing in your pantry except Coco Pops."
"Don't touch them," he says, curving his elbow around my neck and pulling my face flush against his damp chest. "I eat them when I get home from work."
"No kidding," I say dryly, pushing off him. No matter how nice he smells, I don't trust that I won't rip the towel off him. "How is your skin so clear?" I pinch his cheek.
"Good genes," he replies, jerking my hand away. "That hurts, boog."
"Let's go to the beach again," I suggest.
He hums, not sounding altogether sold on the idea. "Nah..."
"I'll let you do more than feel me up," I tempt him, being intentionally coy.
He glances at me and arches a very pointed brow. "That's a given now, Rapunzel."
He moves to clamp my nose again, but I pre-empt him and tilt my head out of reach. "Movies?"
He expels a long, exasperated breath. "Let me think about it."
"All right," I mumble, fighting to keep my tone casual.
"Don't you want to hang with midget?" He gauges me for a moment and I'm positive he's catching on, but then I'd be an idiot to think he's still in the dark.
"Yeah," I agree, shrugging a lukewarm shoulder. My priority isn't Alice, right now, though.
"Go shopping with her or some shit, so you don't feel the need to drag my ass to the mall Thursday night," he adds ruefully.
I nudge him again and he jolts and almost chokes on his coffee. "For the record, I hate shopping."
He rolls his eyes, and dropping his empty mug back to the counter he hooks his elbow around my neck again. "Maybe I just want to stay home and fuck you again," he admits against my ear.
"Of course, you do," I reply, shoving against him.
He chuckles and releases me, tugging on a strand of my chaotic bed hair.
"Your dad's home today, isn't he?" I ask curling my hair over my shoulder, my feigned indifference beginning to sound a little too forced.
He jerks an offhanded shoulder. "Yeah, sometime around six probably."
"Will he get angry? About this?" I point to his bruised ribs apprehensively, but the waver to my voice gives me completely away.
He sighs in deliberate emphasis, and grabs my hand. "Bella..." He's serious.
"What?" I ask, severing my eyes from his and staring down at the tiled floor.
"Stop that," he warns me, and while there's an edge of frustration behind his voice, there's also tenderness. "Jesus, what are you looking at now?"
I glance back up at him and flash him a culpable smile. "I'm just—"
"Worried about me?" he cuts me off, his eyebrows raised high even as a smile ghosts on his lips.
"Yeah."
"You don't need to be. I'm not going to piss the old bastard off for a while, so stop getting bent out of shape." He sounds too cavalier about it, but whereas I suck at pretences, he's a master at it. Especially when it comes to his father.
"You deliberately piss him off?" I ask, not even minimally convinced.
"Yeah." He scoffs to himself in open amusement. "Just to shit-stir him."
"Why?" It's a genuine question, and one I want to understand.
He shrugs a jerky shoulder again, and glances away from me. "It's better than him fucking ignoring me," he mutters, his expression completely clouding, but it's a moment that's quickly lost in time, before he shrugs it off and forces that cagey grin back to his expression. "We'll go for a drive tonight and fog up the windows."
I huff with as much frustration for him as concern, but inevitably let it go. "Okay," I concede, expelling a weary breath. He's completely exhausting.
"Jesus, you're a pain in the neck." He points to my chest, and when I glance down, he flicks my nose. "Kiss me," he says, muffling his laughter through his nose at my reaction.
With a small, barely audible sigh, I stretch on my toes and plant my lips to his. He grabs a handful, of course, and for the next several minutes what may or may not happen with his father tonight gets pushed from my mind, as he completely manhandles me. But I'm honestly at a loss with him.
Sometimes, I'm positive he's hiding everything with his father behind this apathetic front he's so good at, and other times I'm convinced he's genuinely not that bothered by it.
And then there's times when I start believing he's just become accustomed to it being his everyday life.
I'm not sure which one's worse.
. . .
Edward leaves for work just after seven, and my main objective for the next several hours is to clean his house from top to bottom. I start with his bedroom first, clearing clothes and rubbish from the floor before changing his sheets, dusting, and vacuuming. It's hard to believe only a few days ago he'd cleaned it himself. He's a definite magnet for mess.
After throwing a load of his dirty laundry in the washing machine, I move onto the living areas. This is when I alert Alice.
"Jesus, Bella, it's eight-thirty!" she exclaims, stumbling out of her room still clearly half asleep and using her bare foot to power off the vacuum cleaner. "What the hell are you doing?" Her question's rhetorical, but I answer anyway.
"I don't want to give your father any reason to start on him."
She shakes her head slowly, but there's a definition understanding, and pity, behind her eyes. "Just wait another hour and I'll help you."
"It's fine," I insist. "I've been staying here since Thursday..." I don't elaborate, and before I can't switch the vacuum back on, Alice unplugs it from the socket.
"Bella!"
"What?" I snap, feeling a little too on edge.
"If they're going to get into it, this won't make a difference," she explains, her voice dropping gently because she knows how overwrought I'm feeling over it.
"I know!" I reply frustrated, dragging my hand stiffly back through my hair. "But...I have to do something." My voice catches softly in the back of my throat, and clearing it roughly, I break her gaze.
Sighing softly, she moves to stand beside me and wraps her arm around my shoulders. "Bella, Edward's not a complete idiot. He's not going to pick a fight with Dad the instant he gets home."
"What do you mean pick a fight?" I ask suddenly curious. I've been under the impression that Edward's run-ins with his father have been completely unprovoked.
Alice shrugs slowly as her thoughts obviously wander. "Usually, Dad'll get pissed off at the mess Edward leaves everywhere. He'll tell him to pick it up, and Edward will say something smartassy back, and just stand there willing Dad to hit him." She scoffs, and shakes her head to herself as frustration mars her expression.
I immediately hesitate, and gaze at her for a moment. "Wait—so your dad hits him because Edward's disrespectful?"
She half nods, and chews on the inside of her cheeks. "Pretty much."
"And he doesn't just to decide to confront Edward and hit him without warning?" I continue to question.
Alice meets my eyes, her brow knotting in confusion. "No, but Edward knows exactly what to say to rile him up. I'm always telling him to stop but—"
"Still—he shouldn't be hitting him," I interject because it goes without saying. "One day Edward will snap and hit him back."
She nods again, slowly this time. "I know..."
I pause, biting on my thumb nail as I contemplate it further. "So, they clash..."
Alice laughs without a shred of humour. "Understatement of the century."
Glancing back up, I meet her troubled gaze. "And Edward, knowing how your father will retaliate, will usually say something to make him snap?"
She half shakes her head in contradiction. "Yeah, I mean, sometimes Dad'll start on him for no reason at all. I know it upsets him, and... I don't blame him for being such a smart mouth back." She expels a wearied breath.
"But...he laughed about it this morning—as though it's funny!" I exclaim, my frustration peaking, but I'm beginning to feel disheartened. "I... I just don't know where he's coming from sometimes."
Alice shrugs again, this time appearing irritated. "You know what Edward's like," she mutters.
"What are you saying? —that he deliberately provokes your father into hitting him?" I express how ridiculous it is. "Why? Why would he do that?"
"Because that's what he does, Bella," she replies, sounding suddenly impatient. "He gets in your face to deliberately force a reaction. Look what he did to you the last few weeks?"
I open my mouth to reply, when I freeze as realisation is quickly descends on me. "Because he won't admit it first." Sighing heavily to myself, I drop my forehead to my palm. I'm completely exhausted!
"In a nutshell."
"Christ..." I didn't realise how complicated Edward really is, but then, I didn't realise a lot of things.
"After Mum died," her voice immediately softens, "Edward and Dad's relationship fell apart. I know Edward's upset about it, but instead of doing something proactive, he'll arc back up at him the instant Dad's gets the shits with him."
"Jesus, he told me why..." I mumble as the conversation I had with him this morning replays through my mind.
"Told you...?" Alice prompts me to continue.
"He said your dad hitting him is better than ignoring him."
She laughs again, sarcastically, but her voice comes minutely close to breaking this time. "God..."
"How did they get so...unhealthy?" I ask.
Her focus sharpens to me, her blue eyes practically blazing. "Because they're both stubborn, short-tempered idiots! Neither one of them will be adult enough to—forget it!" she cuts herself short with a huff. "I'm going back to sleep," she mutters, and turning on her heel she disappears around the hall to her bedroom.
I watch her go distracted as my mind continues on the same tangent, and that's when it hits me.
Edward craves attention from his father, and it doesn't matter to him in what form.
. . .
I continue cleaning, leaving the rest of the vacuuming until Alice wakes a second time. She helps me as she promised, but there's no words between us. My thoughts are too overrun, and Alice, knowing she can't offer anything to put me as ease, remains silent.
At midday we're done, and Alice drags me with her to do grocery shopping. It's no use though; I can't get Edward from my thoughts, or lessen the growing anxiety I'm feeling for him. My father's still on night shift for the rest of the month, so I'm hoping I can persuade him to spend the night—even if he will have to occupy the spare bedroom.
He arrives home just before five. The sound of his truck pulling up in the driveway it's unmistakeable, and the instant I hear the diesel engine, I race out the door to greet him.
After parking his car in the garage, he makes his way toward me. He's bare-chested, his work shirt draped over his sweaty shoulder, and despite the smile that tugs lazily across his face he looks completely shattered.
"How'd you go?" I ask, rising on my toes to meet his kiss.
"Okay," he mumbles, expelling a weary-sounding breath and running his hand back through his short, wayward hair. "Go wait for me in the tree house. I'll be there in a sec," he directs me, gently clamping my nose, before turning and heading toward the front door.
I watch him go; his shoulders are sagging, his head's bowed, and my heart is absolutely breaking for him.
He's only five minutes behind me when he pulls himself into the tree house and sits beside me, and as I was secretly hoping, he pulls two rolled joints from his pocket and a lighter.
He's more likely to talk while he's mellow, and cannabis definitely has that effect on him.
He hands me one, and after lighting it for me, I inhale and immediately start choking. He only smirks to himself and lights his own; relaxing his arm heavily around my shoulders and leaning back against the timber of the makeshift wall.
"Holy shit..." he utters with a long languid groan, closing his eyes against it as smoke billows from his nostrils.
He's still bare-chested and he smells both woody and musky simultaneously. It's more appealing than I ever would have previously admitted.
"Tired?" I ask rhetorically, after somewhat getting the hang of managing the joint in my hand.
"Fucked." With his eyes remaining closed, his head lulls to the side against my shoulder. "Bell..." His voice is deep and gravelly, but he barely sounds coherent.
"Hmm?" I snuggle against him and curve my hand around his thigh.
"Shhh," he murmurs, bringing the joint to his lips a second time and drawing it deep within his lungs. "Bell...?" There's a definite question behind it this time.
"Yeah?" I ask softly.
"Stay for dinner?" He turns his head and rests his lips to my bare shoulder, his eyes still closed.
"Okay," I agree. "Alice cooking?"
"She usually does when the old man's home." He squints up at me and flashes me a warm smile. His eyes are burning again; the colour of clovers.
I return it, albeit cautiously and bide my time. He's not mellow enough just yet. I need to give him a few more minutes. "Hmm, okay."
"Good." Sounding satisfied, he closes his eyes again and takes another long drag of his joint. "This week's going to hammer me."
"Just take it easy," I mumble, turning my head to rest my lips to his brow; his skin's hot. "You got sunburnt."
"Hmm, yeah. We were doing a new frame today," he explains behind a momentous breath. "All fifty fucking squares of it."
"How's your ribs?" I ask, running my palm over the fading bruise.
He jolts, covers his hand over mine and he breaks into an impulsive grin. "That tickles, boog—not too bad."
"That's good."
"Hmm..." He moans again and clumsily raises his head to kiss my temple. "Your old man on night shift?"
I smile knowingly to myself. "Yes."
"I might sneak over later." He raises his head further and when I catch his gaze he winks.
I briefly pause; he might have just given me an opening. "You can stay over. You just have to move to the spare room before he gets home."
"Yeah..." He's not sold. "I don't want to push him just yet."
I sigh. "He offered, you dork."
"Just face it," he drops his face to my neck and floods me with his heated breath, "you can't get enough of me."
I chuckle lightly. "I admit it."
"Took you long enough," he adds, his voice muted against my skin before he plants his lips along my throat, and then again, practically groaning with it. "Bell...?"
"Hmm?"
He's silent, and for a moment I'm worried he's fallen asleep, when he raises his head and locks his eyes with mine. "I'm sorry..."
"What for?" I ask, tilting my head in confusion.
"For fucking up your formal."
I release my breath gently, and smile at him with too much affection; I can't help it. "You didn't," I assure him.
"I feel pretty shitty over it," he admits, bringing his joint to his lips and drawing back again.
"It wasn't your fault."
He doesn't answer; instead, he expels the smoke from his lungs with a deep-sounding hum.
"I'm on baby-sitting duty again this Friday," I bring to his attention.
"Yeah?" He raises is head and meets my eyes with a definite interest igniting behind his.
"Yeah. Wanna come over and help?"
"So long as you don't get all weepy on me like you did the last time," he teases me, reaching out to clamp my nose again.
"You're an asshole," I murmur good-naturedly, brushing his hand away. "You wanted to kiss me all the time, and I had no idea what the hell was going on," I attempt to explain myself.
A grin pulls wide across his face, and he muffles his obvious laughter through his nose. "You were just in denial."
"So were you." I nudge him teasingly with my shoulder.
"I've never been in denial," he insists with a quick grin, and drawing back what's left of his joint, he bends forward to butt it out with his steel-capped work boot.
I only scoff and prod him again, with my elbow this time.
He chuckles lightly, and turns to fully face me. "Kiss me."
"Kiss me," I tease him back in imitation.
He does. It's warm, gentle and almost long before he expels a frustrated-sounding groan and pulls back. "I'm so fucking hammered right now, I'm not in the mood for anything," he mutters, resting his lips briefly against my brow.
"It won't kill you. Edward...?" I breach, practically holding my breath.
"Yeah?" He props his knees up, leans further back against the wall and releases an exhausted breath.
"Can I ask you something?"
"What?" he replies, cocking a brow, with more than a suspicious edge to his tone.
"Why do you fight with your dad all the time?" I ask before I can talk myself out of it, and almost shying away from him in the process.
He groans pointedly, and leaning his head back, he closes his eyes again. "Bella..." he complains.
"Just explain it to me so I understand," I appeal to him.
Huffing, he releases his arm from around me and presses the heel of his palm against his eyes. "God, you're a pain in the neck. I don't know," he mutters. "He's always on my back for the dumbest shit—leaving crumbs on the counter, or not putting a fucking fork in the dishwasher. Meanwhile, his little princess, Alice, can do no wrong. It pisses me off." His tone darkens, and leaning forward again, he rests his forearms against his knees and frowns.
"What makes him hit you?" I continue to push him despite my better judgement.
He jerks an irritated shoulder. "If he thinks I'm being a little shit, I guess."
"Are you?"
He turns to me as an ironic grin pulls on his lips. "What do you think?"
"So... he doesn't just confront you and hit you? —I mean without you being a little shit?"
He scoffs, clearly thinking I'm being ridiculous. "Is that what you think?" he puts to me as I nod sheepishly. "If he started that shit, I'd lay the bastard out flat."
"Then...do you want him to hit you?" I ask, knowing at any moment he could snap.
He shrugs again but doesn't answer.
"Edward," I say softly. "I know it hurts you when he does."
"Bella..." His voice drops lowly, but I continue regardless.
"And if it hurts you, it hurts me."
He turns to me abruptly, his mouth open as though he were going to lose it with me, but he doesn't. Instead, he huffs again with obvious frustration and drags his fingers back through his hair. "Our family's just...dysfunctional, Bell. It's just the way it is. You can't fix it."
"Edward...?"
"Bella...just stop..." He sighs and drops his head.
"Just answer me one more thing," I plead with him.
"What?" he says, sounding suddenly resigned; his gaze fixed beyond him.
"Do you allow him to hit you to feel something?" I venture, as he laughs humourlessly.
"No. I want him to feel like shit for being a poor fucking excuse for a father, but he doesn't. He doesn't give a shit!" he replies, his voice sharp and overrunning with bitterness.
"Have you tried talking to him?"
He laughs again, dryly this time. "That stuffy old bastard? That will never happen." Then turning to fully face me, he covers his palm over my mouth. "No more questions."
I nod silently, and he releases his hand. "Just promise me one thing," I whisper.
He groans again loudly and with emphasis. "Bella!"
"Just... Edward—promise me you won't provoke him—please!" I plead with him desperately. I'm deadly seriously; something he immediately picks up on, because he pauses and gauges me closely for a moment before expelling a conceding breath.
"All right, you pain in the neck. I promise."
A/N: love ya's.