A/N: Hope everyone's enjoying isolation and staying safe. We're doing okay down here. Only a handful of people have died; though, our idiot bureaucrats responsible for running the country did let a cruise ship full of infected people just walk right in. God help us.
Hoodwinked
Chapter 32
Knowing we absolutely could not wake up Carlisle to haul Edward's unconscious body inside, Alice and I attempt to budge him ourselves. After no more than five minutes, though, we quickly realise it's futile. We both end up exhausted and mud-splattered with no possible way of getting Edward inside without injuring ourselves.
"I'll call Jas," Alice says, massaging her brow with exasperation, but Jasper, at 5'10 and several inches shorter than Edward, struggles, and I'm forced to get my father.
Charlie has no trouble with him. He heaves Edward over his shoulder, and after dumping him, soaking clothes and all, on his unmade bed, he turns to me with a genuine look of concern etched into his features.
"Make sure he stays on his side, and you might want to get a bucket."
I nod and glance at Alice. She huffs and immediately shakes her head.
"Don't think I'm going to be looking after his pukey ass," she speaks up, arching a very pointed brow, and it appears to go unnoticed to her that my father's still in the room.
"Keep an eye on him, Bella," he adds matter-of-factly, and with a weary-sounding sigh, he turns to leave.
I can only stare after him, blinking vacantly, before my gaze returns to Alice. "Did my father just give me permission to stay with him?"
She breaks into a small smile. "I think so."
"God..." I expel an exhausted breath. "Get that bucket." I'm not going to get thrown up over again.
"On it."
In the end, he doesn't need it. After snoring for five consecutive hours, Edward promptly bolts upright out of a dead sleep and staggers hastily to the bathroom where he throws up what sounds like the last months' worth of stomach contents.
He re-emerges several minutes later, clumsily turning on his bedroom light, and despite how obviously pale he is, he appears relieved more than anything. I expected him to look like death warmed up.
That's how I felt the last time I was hungover.
"Do you want me to get you a glass of water?" I offer, deliberately lowering the pitch of my voice.
He flashes me a sheepish grin and lowers his head, running his hand to the back of his neck to deliberately break my gaze. "Yeah, thanks, Bell. Can you see if there's any Beroccas?"
"Sure. Where do you keep them?"
"Erm...second shelf in the pantry I'm pretty sure..." He won't look at me, but if I thought he'd still be angry at me, I was worried for nothing. Anger with Edward is stark, and right now, it's the furthest thing he's feeling.
After stumbling around in the pre-dawn semi-darkness, I reach the kitchen and find the Beroccas; on the top shelf. When I return to Edward's bedroom, he's back in his bathroom, brushing his teeth this time.
"I had that taste in my mouth," he mumbles in explanation as I hand him the glass.
I only nod and throw him half a smile in response.
Following me into his room, he sits on the edge of his bed and downs the vitamin drink in one gulp. I can only marvel at him and how well he recovers.
"What?" he asks, raising a curious brow.
I shake my head, scoffing softly to myself. "Nothing."
"Hey..." His voice softens and turns even huskier.
"Hm?"
"I'm really sorry, Bell," he says earnestly as his breath gushes behind it. "I'm just a... fucking prick." He drags his fingers through his hair in a fit of obvious frustration.
I shake my head. "Don't worry about it."
He draws his breath, as if to argue, but cutting himself short, he buries his forehead in his palm. "Fuck, my head..."
"You're dehydrated."
He laughs dryly. "Yeah."
"You okay?"
Glancing up at me again, he flashes me a genuine smile. "Yeah. I'm fine. Thanks for staying."
"My dad ordered it."
"Your dad?" he echoes in disbelief.
"Yep."
"How did he...?" He doesn't elaborate, as a discreet smile spreads across my face.
"You really want to know?"
"Not really," he mutters, dropping his head to his hands again and groaning lowly to himself.
I sit beside him apprehensively, contemplating whether I should reach out and touch him, when he wraps his arm around me and tugs me closer.
"I don't want to be that guy, Bell..." he says quietly, more or less to himself.
"What guy?" I ask softly in confusion.
"The guy that treats his girl like shit, apologises and then does the same thing a week later."
I sigh deeply and shrug a shoulder. "Okay, last week you were a complete asshole to me, but I really can't think of any other time when you've taken your problems with your dad out on me."
"Yeah, but still..." he mumbles, his eyes on the floor. "I just let him...get under my skin," he huffs in obvious frustration, "and I knew what I was saying to you but I was just so fucking pissed off I couldn't stop."
"I know..." I assure him, prodding him gently.
"I'm going to fuck it up. I thought I could handle it with you, but...I'm not sure I can," he concludes, his voice dropping to a whisper, and just as my heart stalls.
"What do y-you mean?" I ask stammering and struggling to find my voice.
"I told you," he looks up and meets my gaze squarely, and his eyes, while still partially bloodshot, are completely overrun, "if it ends badly, it's going to..." He doesn't finish; instead, he drags his hand stiffly back through his hair again.
"Edward, you're being too hard on yourself. You took your anger with your dad out on me, I get that, but Jesus..."
"Remember what I said?" he says after a moment of gauging me, only this time his voice is almost light.
"What?"
"You can't stop fighting with me. You're not supposed to take my shit, remember?"
Expelling my breath, I smile along with him. "I don't take your shit."
"You told me you loved me. It made me feel a fuckton worse."
"I do, though," I say simply, shrugging both shoulders.
"I know you do," his voice turns tender as he momentarily presses his face to the side of my head. "You know I do, too, right?"
"Yeah, I know," I reply, smiling subtly to myself this time as I recall his double confession last night.
Two types of people tell the truth, my mother always says: Kids and drunk people.
"What?" He nudges me.
"Nothing," I quickly cover.
"Fuck, what did I say?" he asks because the shithead is perceptive.
"You were mostly rambling," I answer, and it's not exactly a lie.
"Rambling about what?" he pushes, closing his eyes, his forehead knotting.
"How you promised to marry me—"
"Fuck!"
"—And how deadshit made you remember," I add with a smirk as he groans loudly.
"What...?"
"And how you were worried about getting hurt," I continue, but I'm serious this time
He doesn't reply, and when I glance at him, he flashes me an awkward smile even as the frown remains deeply etched into his forehead. "Bell..."
"You weren't making a lot of sense," I quickly reassure him.
"It's true though," he mumbles, avoiding my gaze again. "I-I've never been with someone who scares the fuck out of me like you do."
"Why do I scare you?" I ask, genuinely confused, and maybe a little hurt.
"You don't know?" he asks dubiously, and when I shake my head in answer, he scoffs. "Because it'll rip my heart out."
"I told you, I won't hurt you," I remind him, but when his eyes meet mine, they're instilled with a deep-seated sadness.
"There are no guarantees, boog." He clamps my nose then, gently, and I very nearly burst into tears. "What?" he enquires, his tone teasing. "You're not getting weepy on me again, are you?"
I elbow him and immediately open my mouth to apologise, worried I've hurt him again, but he only laughs gently.
"You ignored me for ten days straight, you asshole!" I complain, nudging him begrudgingly this time.
"I wasn't ignoring you," he insists.
"You barely spoke three words to me," I point out.
"You spoke to me twice. 'Hey' and 'Is Alice home?'" He raises his brows in emphasis.
"But...?"
"I knew I'd have to give you more than a couple of days to cool down this time," he explains a little more seriously. "I wasn't sure if you were going to forgive me. You were pretty pissed."
"I was," I admit, "but I was hurt more."
"Shit, Bell."
I shrug an apologetic shoulder. "I was, though."
"Okay, you're going to have to hit me or something," he decides.
"What?" I ask blankly.
"I deserve it. Go on." He places his index finger to his chin and juts it out.
"I'm not hitting you."
"Hit me—we'll both feel better."
"No."
"Hit me!"
"No!"
"Fuck, you're a pain in the neck," he complains, and without warning, he takes a handful of my left breast and squeezes.
On absolute impulse, I suck in my breath and almost jump ten feet in the air. "Ow—you asshole! That hurt!"
"Well, hit me," he over exaggerates it.
"I'm not going to hit you," I insist with an exasperated huff.
"If you don't hit me, I'll grab the other one," he threatens, his grin far too cagey for someone who was dead-on-his-feet drunk only a few hours earlier.
I scowl at him but quickly relent because with Edward it's easier just to humour him. "Fine!"
"Okay."
"On three," I warn him.
"You're only going to slap me, right?" he asks suddenly sceptical.
"Yes."
"Okay. One..."
"Two..." I raise my left hand to slap his face, and with my right, I grab a handful of his family jewels and squeeze—a lot harder than he groped me. "Three."
His expression immediately smooths out in shock as a strangled, guttural sound burst from him. Then, sounding as though he were laughing and crying simultaneously, he falls back against his bed with his knees drawn to his chest. "Motherfuck..."
"We're even," I say, grinning over my shoulder at him with satisfaction.
"Fuck, Bella, you're going to make me puke again," he utters in a rigid voice, suddenly taking on a sallow tinge.
I laugh lightly, and grabbing my hand, he pulls me down against him.
"I'm sorry," I offer, feeling a teensy bit bad, but he only chuckles beneath his breath.
"I deserved it," he replies, his voice continuing to take on a jagged edge. "Thanks, Bell..."
"What for?" I ask, resting my lips to the side of his neck and breathing him in. I've missed the salty spice that's his scent more than I'd ever imagined.
"For forgiving me even when I don't deserve it."
"Just...don't do it again," I say quietly.
"I won't. I promise."
"You already broke your promise, remember?" I bring up what started all this, and he sighs with deliberately-feigned frustration.
"Okay, I can't make any promises when it comes to my old man, but when it comes to you and me, I can. Alright...?"
I hum softly.
"Bell...?" He sounds suddenly uncertain.
"Yeah?" I tilt my head to glance up at him.
"You believe me, right?" He gazes at me, his expression taking on that vulnerability again.
"I believe you," I assure him, breaking into a warm smile.
"Good," he murmurs.
"Hmm..." I mumble sleepily this time. While Edward slept like the dead, I barely got five minutes of shut-eye.
"Bell?"
"Yeah?" I reply, behind closed eyes.
"Why the fuck am I wet?"
"You laid down in the front yard in the rain," I say candidly, snorting my laughter through my nose when he groans again.
"Fuck..."
"You want to change?" I lift my head drowsily to meet his eyes.
"Yeah." Shuffling out from under me, he pulls himself to his feet and peels his damp clothes from his body down to his underwear. Then, switching off his light, he draws me between his sheets with him. "Is this midget's?" he asks, tugging on the t-shirt I'm wearing.
"Yeah."
"Why are you...?"
"I got wet, too," I explain cryptically.
"Why...?" he echoes curiously.
"You made me talk to you in the rain," I say ruefully.
He breaks into an immediate grin and drags me closer to his naked chest. I can still smell the rain seeped into his skin, and six am on no sleep, or not, my body's beginning to stir. "See, I knew you loved me."
"I love you," I agree, snuggling further against him. "So, about your old man..."
He groans again only fractionally beneath his breath. "What about him?" he asks, sounding resigned.
"I promise not to say anything to him about you, and I don't think I should stay for dinner again."
He hums sounding suddenly distracted. "Yeah...Okay. I really am a fucking prick, Bell."
"Stop saying that. And..." I add hesitantly, only to second guess myself and let it go.
"And?" he prompts me.
"I want something else," I mumble with zero conviction.
"...What?" He's instantly suspicious.
I turn in his arms and meet his gaze seriously. "I want you to give me a hint."
"About...?" His forehead bunches in confusion.
"You know what about..." I lower my voice in emphasis as he sighs heavily.
"I hate talking about that shit. You know that," he complains, raising a hand over the covers to rub at his brow.
"I know, but I feel terrible that I can't remember," I explain my reasoning.
"I don't want you to feel terrible," he mutters.
"Of course, I'm going to feel terrible!" I state, grabbing his hand when he continues to claw at his skin. "It's significant to you and I've completely forgotten about it."
"Bell..."
"You were a complete asshole, you owe me," I go with emotional blackmail while practically holding my breath.
He exhales in a wavering gush, and groans pointedly with it. "Fuck, you're a pain in the neck," he utters before conceding. "Okay... We were in the lounge room together, you asked me whether I wanted you to get your old man, and I replied, 'what can he do?'."
I pause, my mouth falling open as the memory ebbs on the periphery of my recollection before it slowly fades away. "Shit, Edward!" I burst. "It's right there!"
"It's in there somewhere," he says, tugging teasingly on a strand of my hair.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" I burst with impatience as it drifts further away.
"Think about it for a while. It'll come to you," he says, and I wish I shared his confidence.
"You must have a photographic memory. You forget nothing!" I complain.
"Believe me, I wish I could forget most of it," he replies in a murmur.
"I wish I could take it from you," I whisper in turn, tightening my arms around him.
"Stop being weepy," he jokes without missing a beat. "Now shut up and go to sleep. I got myself deliberately shitfaced tonight just to get the balls to text you."
I laugh gently and prod him, but I don't tell him that I would have replied no matter when he texted, or that I was miserable without him. He doesn't need to know everything.
. . .
Sleeping in on the weekends with Edward is definitely a trend with us. I wake at eleven-thirty to the glaring sun, bright and warm, behind my closed eyes, as well as to the familiar "oof" sounds of Edward at his punching bag.
"Sorry, Boog, gotta burn off the alcohol," he apologises after I shove his pillow over my head with an exasperated, sleep-deprived moan.
"It's alright," I croak out from behind it, only for him to jump on the bed over me not a moment later.
"Oi," he pokes me in the ribs and attempts to pull his pillow from me.
"What...?" I grumble, relenting and allowing him to remove it.
"Let's go to Maccas," he suggests. "I need something fattening."
"Why were you boxing again?" I put to him dubiously, only for him to quirk a puzzled brow.
"What are you bitching about now?"
"Shouldn't we be having makeup sex or something?" I go with the obvious angle, raising my eyebrows in return.
"Not with the old man in the house." He grins shrewdly and clamps my nose. "Wanna do it in the treehouse again?"
"No—God it was uncomfortable! And besides..." I abandon it with a frown.
"Besides...?" he coaxes me to finish.
"That was the day everything went to crap. I don't want to be reminded of it."
He rolls his eyes. "Then we attach it to another memory, dork." He flicks my forehead this time, before pulling his long lean frame from over me. "Gonna have a shower. Be out in ten."
"Kay..." I mumble sitting up and rubbing my eyes groggily. "I'll go home and get dressed." Pulling myself lazily from his bed, I head toward his door.
"Hey," he says grabbing my hand and pulling me around to face him.
"What?" I ask, tilting my head, and before I can get another word out of my mouth, he cups his hands to the sides of my face and kisses me.
He kisses my lips repeatedly before pressing them to my jaw and neck and then every point on my face. "I missed you, boog," he murmurs against my ear when he releases me.
"Missed you too, shithead," I reply, shoving against him with too much affection behind it.
"Don't be long." He clamps my nose again and disappears behind his bathroom door.
"I'm heading home, Als," I say, pushing open her door as I pass it.
"Everything sorted out?" she asks, sitting cross-legged in the middle of her bed on her phone; to Jas, more than likely.
"Yeah," I say, smiling ruefully to myself.
"I was right, wasn't I?" She cocks an all-knowing brow.
"You were."
Her grin turns broad. "Did you make him grovel?"
"No, he grovelled all on his own."
Her expression this time is grounded in disbelief. "He did?"
"Yep," I say simply.
"Jesus..." She shakes her head to herself. "What are you up to today?"
"Going to get Edward a hangover breakfast. Even though he doesn't appear to have one." I roll my eyes. He's definitely blessed in that department.
"He never does. Dad's out tonight. Come over—Jas'll be here, too."
"Yeah. Thanks, Al... For putting up with me."
Her smile this time is sunny and full of amusement. "Welcome."
. . .
My mother's enthusiasm reaches peak breaking point.
"Oh, sweetie, I'm so happy for you!" she gushes, taking both my hands and out-stretching them as though she were inspecting me for hickies.
"Thanks," I mumble.
"How's he feeling?"
"Fine."
"Does he need a hangover cure? I have—"
"He doesn't have a hangover."
She pauses, her forehead knotting. "Your father said he was completely..."
"He was," I sigh, "but he seems to shrug these things off pretty quickly." He shrugs a lot of things off.
"Okay." She places both palms to my cheeks and mashes my lips together in her enthusiasm. "Did you apologise?"
"No!" I state more than a little indignant. "He—"
"Oh, sweetie," she waves her hand, brushing me off. "Do you need a B-12?" she offers because it's my mother's answer to everything.
"No, I'm fine." I sigh a second time, but I'm not sure I'll ever become immune to Renee's investment.
"You look tired. I imagine the make-up sex was pretty exhaust—"
"I'm leaving," I state in the midst of a full-body cringe before I make a break for my bedroom.
. . .
While Edward orders pancakes, and a large—everything, I buy a muffin and a coffee. We don't sit inside the restaurant to eat, though. Instead, we wander toward the small park to the rear and sit on a timber picnic table overlooking a pong where several sucks skim along the surface.
The first several minutes are spent in silence as Edward gorges on his meal, until he turns to me, his mouth crammed full with food. "You're quiet. What's going on?" he probes.
I shrug my shoulder slowly. "I'm fine."
"Bell..."
Glancing at him, I raise my brows in question.
"You're still pissed off at me, aren't you?"
"No," I reply, giving him a small smile.
"Then tell me," he insists, shoving his Sausage and Egg McMuffin in front of me in offer.
I shake my head and wave it away. "It was just something you said last night..." I mumble.
It's everything he said last night.
"Geez, what..."
I shake my head to reassure him, but I can't deny it's troubled me ever since. "It's not bad."
"What is it?" He sighs in resignation because he knows me. He's always known me.
I turn my head to fully meet his eyes. "You said you have to figure out how to have more than just sex with me," I relay in a quiet voice, severing his gaze to stare at my paper coffee cup.
For a moment there's silence between us before Edward expels a heavy breath. "Bell, I was drunk."
"No one lies when they're drunk," I remind him.
He takes a second breath and groans with it. "Bella, look at me." I do. "I was just a fucking mess thinking I'd fucked everything between us, and I was doubting—everything. I thought I couldn't..." He shakes his head. "Anyway, it was bullshit."
"Are you holding back? —worried you're going to get hurt?" I ask him the obvious question, wanting to shy away from him at the same time, because judging by his expression, I've hit the nail on the head.
He breaks my gaze and stares at the half-eaten breakfast burger in his hand. "It's not... I mean, I'm not holding back."
"What is it?" I ask seriously.
"It just...fucking scares the shit out of me," he admits, sounding suddenly impatient with himself.
"You still think I'm going to hurt you." It's not a question, and I hate the fact that he does.
He shakes his head in immediate contradiction. "No... I'm just worried it won't work, and I know how much that'll...kill me."
"Edward—"
"Bell, I've done that shit. I'm not going there again." He's serious, but more than that, he's resolute.
I nod my head slowly in thought because I know where he's coming from. "Yeah... The last week without you felt pretty shitty."
He utters a strange, dry-laced laugh. "I didn't call you or anything because I couldn't...hear you tell me it was over..." he murmurs, dropping his gaze again and frowning to himself.
"I-I thought you were angry at me," I admit sheepishly.
"Why would you think that?" His expression quirks this time in amusement.
"For sticking my 'big, fat nose' between you and your dad," I deliberately quote him.
He scoffs. "You probably shouldn't have said anything, but I get that you were only looking out for me. I'm not a complete asshole."
"You're not an asshole, at all," I maintain as he immediately smirks.
"At least try and be realistic." He nudges me with his shoulder, forcing me into a reluctant smile. "What's with all this heavy stuff, anyway?"
"I just want to...make sure we've properly cleared the air," I explain, shrugging past my growing doubt.
"We're fine," he insists. "Last night was the result of too many hours thinking I'd pushed you away. At least, that's what midget kept drumming into my head," he mutters, and scoffing, he takes another bite of his burger.
"You'd have to do a lot more than that to push me away," I reassure him, "but I still think you should talk to him."
"I told you, he won't listen," he says, his voice taking on an immediate edge.
"You should both get as drunk as you were last night," I suggest in an attempt to lighten the mood, as well as the topic of his father.
He scoffs again, but he's smiling to himself and that's a definite positive. "I'll need a few weeks of recovery time."
"I felt like death for the entire day, and you woke up after a couple of hours completely cured." I feign offense.
"Good genes," he says with a wink, shoving the rest of his burger in his mouth.
"Apparently."
"Boog, you've got to stop hanging onto shit and not take everything I say literally," he adds when my thoughts begin to stray again.
"I don't," I say, not sounding exactly convincing.
"Originally, you told me to fuck myself, or something like that, and then you called me an asshole. You remember?" he attempts to jog my memory, and grinning to myself, I nod my head.
"Yeah."
"You can't stop doing that. I told you, you have to fight with me. If I act like an asshole and you throw me that pissed off look or tell me to fuck off, it makes me come to my senses," he relays that typical overly pragmatic logic of his, shrugging his shoulder to cement it further before bringing the straw of his coke to his lips.
I can only smile and shake my head. "You're the one who always tells me you're not an asshole," I remind him.
"I can be sometimes." He flashes me a semi-shrewd grin. "I told you, boog, you're the only one who doesn't take my shit."
"Alright..." I concede, but half the time, I have no idea what he's talking about, and he's already mentally exhausting me.
"Besides," he adds simply. "I fucking hate when you cry over me."
"Huh?" I say blankly.
"If I say something shitty, don't cry—fucking deck me one!" he insists, as I laugh openly.
"Okay. I'll think about it," I say wryly.
"Good," he says simply sounding satisfied with himself. "You done?" he tilts his head in reference to my coffee.
"Yeah. It was pretty crap."
"I told you not to order one." Grabbing my rubbish and bunching it roughly into a ball along with his, he lobs it towards the rubbish bin five feet away. "What are we doing?" he puts to me after it bounces off the rim and slides neatly inside.
I shrug simply. "I don't mind. What do you want to do?"
"I want to fuck you at least five times by tonight," he says completely straight-faced.
"What?" I almost choke on my own saliva.
"We have to make up for lost time," he says as though it went without saying.
It does, but still... "Can you not be completely sex-crazed?"
"You know how many times I've had to whack off?" he raises his brows as I huff loudly.
"What part of you thinks I want to hear that?"
"Touchy." He clamps my nose. I shove him in response as he laughs whole-heartedly and completely at my expense. "You're still a screechy pain in the neck, boog."
"I told you, you're not allowed to call me that anymore."
"That was snotface."
"I..." I'm starting to feel dazed, and shaking my head to myself, I let it go. "Not in the treehouse!" I relent and state my sole condition.
"My bed's getting boring," he complains, pulling me to my feet with him. "How many times has it been?"
"Five," I answer with an internal groan even as I fight off my emerging grin.
"Is that all?" he bursts as we make our way back to his car.
"It would have been more if you didn't go full dysfunctional asshole on me last week," I retort, and releasing my hand, he hooks his elbow around my neck.
"Would you stop bitching already? Geez..."
I only sigh but don't say anything, because no matter how much he torments me, the fact remains that I missed him more than I thought I could tolerate the last ten days.
"You missed me, didn't you?" he asks because the shithead can probably read my thoughts.
"Yeah," I admit begrudgingly, shoving against him teasingly.
"Okay, I'll make you a deal," he says after sliding behind the steering wheel. He let me drive his car this morning; I almost died of shock.
"What?" I ask cynically as I tug the seatbelt over my shoulder.
"Sex twice and I'll give you another hint." He cocks a brow, but for a second or two, I'm slightly lost for words. I gauge him closely, but he's giving nothing away. "What?" he asks, puzzled.
I shake my head again, not quite sure what to make of it. "Okay."
Grinning and looking pleased with himself, he slots his key in the ignition and turns over the engine, while I can only marvel at him in complete bewilderment.
First his car and now this... His guilt is definitely turning out to be profitable.
A/N: I'm really not happy with this chapter, but...
Thank for reading, and thanks also to Kim and Melinda.