A/N: Thank you so much for the wonderful response to the first chapter! It was brought to my attention however that I failed to give my canon readers any warning that this fic is, in fact, All-Human. I do apologize if you were under the impression this would be another canon-esque AU, but personally, I blame FFn for that. 255 characters -including spaces- is all they allow for summaries. (Grr...)
Big, big thanks go again to SueBee0619 for her beta services, as well as to my wonderful pre-readers for all their support. :)
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Disclaimer:I still don't own Twilight, any of its characters, or any songs with the same title as this story.
Chapter 2:
After a long, hard cry the night following my first encounter with Edward Cullen, I manage to regain my composure and push away the feelings he stirred inside me. I feel as though I sleepwalk through the rest of the week, avoiding Mr. Cullen and his parents whenever possible. Unfortunately, I'm really struggling with the material in the former's class. Despite Anna Bella Dwyer's transcripts saying she was getting a "B" in math at her last school, I'm now getting a "D".
I can handle being a sub-standard student considering it's my second time through this and I don't need these grades at all. However, Mr. Cullen doesn't know that, and he pulls me aside on Friday to ask me what I'm having trouble with. I can't find an answer for him and I'm afraid to even look at him with his hypnotic green eyes, chiseled jaw, and tousled bronze hair. He seems to sense this and taps my chin lightly with his finger to get my attention. It seems too intimate a gesture between teacher and student, but then maybe I wouldn't think so if I were really a teenager and not an overly frustrated twenty-something who'd never met a man quite as intriguing or as handsome as this one.
"Can you tell me what's going on inside that brain of yours?" he asks genuinely.
I try to smile, but I can't. "I don't know."
He seems to study me for a moment. "Bella, are you just having a hard time adjusting?"
I look at the floor and bite my lip. "Maybe. I guess."
"Is it home or school you find hardest?"
"Both," I admit.
He takes a breath. "Well, I've been there. I know how that feels. So if you ever want to talk –here or outside of school, or whatever – just let me know."
I glance up, both enticed by his offer to talk and indignant that he thinks he knows anything about how I feel. It's rather arrogant of him, despite the fact that my situation is something most teachers would never come across in a million years. Still, he knows that I lost both my parents recently and I find it offensive that he would compare our situations without knowing the details.
When I don't answer him, he continues talking.
"I know Esme had to have told you that I'm adopted," he says.
"She did," I answer shortly, trying and failing to reign in my irritation. "But that doesn't mean you know how I feel. Because you don't. And I appreciate you trying to be nice to me for your mother's sake, but I really don't need-"
"Whoa now, hold on a second there," he stops me. "I'm not doing anything for my mother's sake here, Bella. I'm your teacher. It's my job to care about how you're doing. In school and otherwise. Not to mention, I have a dozen or so years of life experience on you. If you're struggling, let me help. Let me do my job."
I snort and then scowl at him, reacting on hurt feelings and indignation alone.
"Look, your job is to teach me math," I snap. "Even if it was more than just that, I don't need anyone trying to help me out of some ridiculous sense of obligation."
"Obligation?" he asks, eyes flashing and voice rising. He looks offended. So much so I think he's going to yell but, with a quick swallow that makes his Adam's apple bob, he regains his composure. "Perhaps we ought to finish this conversation another time, young lady. I only want to help you. I have no interest in arguing with you."
I roll my eyes at him. "Don't dismiss me like I'm a child. You don't know anything about me."
"Anna Bella-"
I ignore him and turn to leave his classroom in a huff. Pathetically, I forget that there's a desk right behind me and almost fall on my face while attempting to escape. Mr. Cullen's hands reach out and steady me.
"Easy," he murmurs. "Don't hurt yourself."
I pause only for a moment while his long fingers remain around my waist. He lets go immediately, but not soon enough to avoid my heart fluttering wildly again. I can also feel the heat of his warm chest against my back now. Unbidden, my mind decides that I'd really like to lean backwards and have him wrap me in his arms. Instead, I shake off my insane thoughts and fly out of the classroom as fast as I can.
The rest of the day, all I can think about are Mr. Cullen's hands and our argument. Or rather, the way I blew up at him for simply caring about the child he thinks that I am. I have to tell myself he sees me this way, because my body still tingles when I think of him touching me and nothing good can come from that.
It's obvious when I watch him with my classmates that Edward is a great teacher and would never cross that line with a student. As the day goes on, I also realize that this means he only approached me because he felt obliged to help me with math. I feel disappointed and disgusted at the same time. Disappointed because I wish his interest in me were more. Disgusted because I shouldn't be thinking that way about him.
When I go to my locker at the end of the day to put my books away, I stand in front of it longer than necessary, trying to decide if I should go back to Mr. Cullen's classroom and apologize. I decide not to, fearful of what I would say to explain my behavior. There's so much that I can't tell him and the memory of his body so close to mine still permeates my mind. I can't risk it.
When Saturday morning arrives, I am greatly relieved I don't have to see Edward Cullen for another two days. I spend a good amount of the morning contemplating my confusing feelings for him. I don't even try to pretend that I don't find him attractive. I do, and from what I've heard in the cafeteria during the week, I'm not the only one. Every female in Forks is hot for the guy. For that reason, I don't let that particular issue bother me as much as others. Like how it felt when his hands were around my waist, for one. Or the way it affected me when he gave me his hand to help me up off the floor.
I can't help but wonder if he feels it too. I want to know if he experiences anything at all similar to what I do, but then I am horrified because that would mean he was some kind of pedophile. Wouldn't it? I mean, he does believe I'm seventeen after all.
A long shower and several hours of homework do very little to take my mind off of Mr. Cullen. My math book stares back at me while I study, mocking me. It takes me an hour to get through half of the assignment, and I'm wondering how inappropriate it would be for me to ask my teacher's mommy if she could get him to tutor me.
Just the thought of one on one time with Edward is enough to nip that idea in the bud. No good could come from such an arrangement. It would be far better for me to struggle through a half a year of math than it would be to risk compromising my teacher's integrity or my cover story.
I don't even realize I've been locked away in my room all day until I hear voices coming from downstairs and look up at the clock. It's almost evening and I've barely said two words to my foster parents today. I decide to go downstairs for the rest of the night, and it's only when I'm halfway down that I realize the male voice I hear isn't Carlisle's. I pause on the landing and step back into the shadows, listening quietly
"I honestly don't know, honey. She barely speaks to us about it. Why the sudden curiosity in her?"
The response comes from the same soothing voice that I hear every day at school.
"I don't know. I just... I just think she's in some kind of trouble. I can't explain it. Just something seems... off."
"What makes you say that?"
Esme's voice sounds too careful. As if she isn't surprised to hear his observations.
"Mom... what do you know?"
I almost laugh at his tone, but listen carefully instead. Not that I don't know the backstory the U.S. Marshals gave the Cullens when I moved here. My alias came complete with a convincing but vague file from Washington Child Protection Services.
"We don't know much, other than she witnessed her parents' deaths and they were apparently murdered. By whom, nobody seems to know. Social Services only told us that it wasn't her, and if anyone should ever call or come around asking questions about her, we should inform her case worker right away."
"You're kidding."
"No, I wish I were. She was old enough to have been emancipated, or go to a group home, but the state wanted to place her somewhere they could be sure she was safe."
"Mom. That's..." his voice fades.
"I know."
"And Dad agreed to this?" he asks incredulously. "I mean, what if someone does come looking for her?"
Esme sighs. "Then we'll handle it together. She wouldn't be any safer in a group home. In fact, she'd be more likely to fall through the cracks and disappear. Or run away. You know how those places are."
I hear Mr. Cullen hum and it gets quiet for a few moments. I consider trying to sneak back upstairs without being heard, but I don't think I can make it without revealing that I've been eavesdropping.
"Mom?" I hear Mr. Cullen ask.
"Yes?"
"Thank you," he replies. "Even if it's dangerous, I'm really glad she's here with you and Dad. I feel oddly... protective of her."
"Really?" Esme exclaims. "Well, I think that's very sweet, honey."
"I don't know if that's the word I would use," I hear Mr. Cullen mutter, though I'm barely able to make the words out.
"What do you mean?" she asks.
He exhales forcefully. "It just means that I'm her teacher and I shouldn't be feeling anything for her. At least, not outside of wanting her to succeed academically."
"Well, she's also your sister of sorts."
"That doesn't make it any better, Mom."
Just then the front door swings open and Dr. Cullen walks in announcing that he's home. I take the opportunity to run back upstairs and pull myself together. I chastise my heart for beating wildly in a way that has nothing to do with my sprint up the stairs. I know it's beating this way because Edward Cullen feels something for me. For the moment, I don't really care what it is, I'm just glad I'm not entirely alone in the inappropriate feelings department.
As soon as I've composed myself, I head back downstairs to join the Cullens and resume my role as the shy, traumatized foster child. It isn't hard. The only thing that's hard is looking at or speaking to Edward without blushing. I can only hope nobody notices.
When it's time to say hello, I greet him with a simple, "Hi, Mr. Cullen." Esme tells me I can call him Edward at home, but I decide it's better to avoid getting too familiar and stick with using his title. Not that I really address him much for the rest of the night, but I try to at least think of him this way. I slip-up a little as the evening wears on.
We have a family style dinner and when the conversation turns towards me, I shy away. I've been given pre-prepared answers to use, and I can resort to them if I have to, but I just hate the feeling that I'm lying to this very nice family. Their concern for me is obvious and, eventually I'm simply unable to resist answering a few questions. They've been patient and I don't want to be difficult.
Dr. Cullen asks me if I've had an opportunity to think any more about extracurricular activities now that I've been in classes for a week. All three Cullens are staring at me; Esme and Edward, each with their very different but equally green eyes, and Carlisle with his piercing blue.
"I'm still trying to get caught up academically," I say. "I haven't thought about it much."
"Well, were you involved with any activities at your old high school?"
"Not really," I answer, shaking my head and looking down at my plate. I can't tell them that public schools aren't allowed to offer my sport to students.
"What about anything you ever wanted to try, but didn't?"
His son clears his throat. "Dad..."
"What?"
"You're pushing her, dear," Esme says with a soft smile.
I blush profusely and bite my lip.
"I'm sorry, Anna Bella. I just don't want you to miss out on anything because we didn't ask if you were interested or offer you support. I know we keep telling you if you need anything to let us know, but I also know you might just be too shy or scared to do so. Am I right?" Carlisle asks.
I meet his eyes and nod. He winks at me.
"Sorry if I'm pestering you."
"You're not," I say quickly.
"Sure he is," Edward says, smiling amusedly. The brilliance of it almost takes my breath away, and I have to remind myself yet again that he's my teacher-slash-foster-brother.
"You know..." Esme says, drawing our attention. "When I was in high school, the things I was interested in doing weren't usually team sports. Sometimes they had a club though. What sorts of clubs do they have these days, Edward?" she inquires.
He scrunches up his face in concentration for a moment. I'm openly gawking at him again, but look down before he can see.
"A lot of the kids are involved in the student government, and its various service related activities. Then there is Foreign Language Club. Drama. Debate. I think there is a science club this year, and math club, of course. Mr. Varner sponsors the Future Business Leaders of America –"
"Wait," I say, surprising even myself. "There's a math club?" I ask, looking up.
His eyes widen a bit. "Yes... Why? Would you be interested in joining?"
"No, no," I say. "I just..." I look back down at my plate. "Um, that means there are kids who are good at math. And like it? Right?"
A smooth chuckle sends a feeling of warmth over me and I risk meeting his eyes when he answers with a simple yes.
"Do they do tutoring?"
"You want help with your math?" Mr. Cullen asks.
"Yes," I say. I hesitate for a moment and then just go ahead and lay it out there. "I don't really care so much about the grade I get, but I spent two hours on the assignment you gave us yesterday and I just can't remember ever learning that stuff before. So it's taking me forever to get through it and I'm frustrated."
Edward. No, Mr. Cullen pushes his plate aside and smiles. "Go get your books."
I blanch. "Wh- What?"
"Go get your stuff. I'll help you. I'm here. It is my job."
"Oh," I say and look away. It's his job. Of course, I forgot he feels obligated. It hurts, so I refuse like a petulant child. I might as well own my role, after all.
"You don't have to do that," I say. "It's your day off. Just enjoy your evening with your parents."
I start to get up and then remember to ask, "May I be excused, please?"
Esme looks between me and her son. "Yes... But I think you should let Edward help you if you're having trouble with your homework."
"He doesn't have to," I say. "But thank you. And thank you for din-"
"I want to," his low, smooth voice stops me. I glance at him and he raises an eyebrow. "Bella, I want to help you," he repeats. "If you'll let me."
I swallow. "Okay."
An hour later, we've gone back to the beginning of the book. Mr. Cullen has long ago given up trying to refresh my memory and is just starting over with me. He mutters about sending a strongly worded email to the math faculty at my former high school and then laughs when I tell him not to bother because, if they're that bad, they might not be able to read it.
Slowly it all comes back to me. By chapter five, something just clicks into place and I almost squeal with glee. Several practice problems later, I'm laughing because Edward tells a cheesy math joke and I actually get it.
"Oh, my gosh!" I giggle. "I remember hearing that back in Phoee–"
My voice falls off abruptly when I realize what I was about to say.
"Fee?" Edward asks, curiously.
"Um... back in Mr. Phoenix's class. At my old school. We just called him by his last name. No Mister. Just Phoenix," I lie.
The smile fades from his face and his eyes show comprehension. I think he knows I'm lying and I start to panic until I hear his soft, compassionate tone of voice.
"It's hard to talk about your life... before. Then, when you don't want to talk about it, it just comes out."
I breathe a small sigh of relief that he doesn't push the Phoenix thing and just agree with him. "Yeah."
"It does get easier in time."
"Maybe."
He touches my hand with his pinky finger and it's immediately soothing. "Do you want to talk about it now?"
I shake my head reflexively, but then my heart clenches and I feel the emptiness of every single, solitary minute of the last two months. Without meaning to, I begin nodding my head yes instead.
His hand covers mine briefly. "Take as long as you need," he says.
After what feels like an eternity, I begin with the most basic thing. "I miss my mom," I say, letting it hang there and feeling the emptiness of her absence. The tears break loose along with a flood of words.
"I miss our house. I miss the way it smelled like her, or like the latest culinary masterpiece she had underway. She was an amazing cook." I sigh and wipe some of the tears, but it's no use. "I miss her smile and her laugh. I miss her making me laugh. I feel like I haven't really laughed in an eternity. And I miss my dad," I pause again. The tears for my father are constant streams and I'm barely able to keep my voice from breaking.
"I miss him so much. He was my everything. My coach, my best friend, my hero. And just my dad," I say, shrugging as my voice falls to a raspy whisper. "He gave the best hugs."
Edward says nothing, but I notice that he's now holding one of my hands in his. It's such a simple gesture, but I think I enjoy it more than I should. I try to smile at him through the tears.
He smiles back softly. "I know it's not the same, but Esme gives pretty good hugs."
I nod and glance towards the living room where she was no doubt waiting for us to finish our lesson. "She does, but my dad's arms were like coming home. I don't know if I'll ever feel like that again."
"You might. Someday"
I sniffle and look at our hands clasped together. "Maybe," I whisper.
I wonder if Edward has followed my train of thought and knows what I'm thinking, because he releases my hand and sets it gently back on the table. He closes my math book and stacks our practice sheets neatly on top.
"I still have to finish my assignment," I say, casually.
He nods. "I know, but I think that's enough for tonight. I'll come by tomorrow to help you through the last of it."
"You don't have to do tha– "
"I want to," he says, stopping me. He chuckles and puts his hand on top of mine again. "And yeah... it's my job and I'm your teacher and all... But I think I crossed out of teacher mode and into big brother mode or something a while ago. Don't you?"
He seems to want to demonstrate this by rubbing his thumb back and forth over my knuckles, but it feels anything except brotherly to me. The odd expression on his face makes me think he realizes this as well, if a moment too late.
"Yeah, probably," I say, pulling my hand from his politely and trying to play it off like I don't have ten-thousand butterflies in my stomach.
I start to feel guilty as he escapes to go say goodnight to his parents. Not only have I monopolized Esme and Carlisle's time with their son tonight, but I opened up to him and talked about my past where I haven't been able to do that with them. To top it all off, there is a palpable energy between me and Edward. If he's feeling half of what I do, all while thinking I'm just seventeen, the poor guy's undoubtedly having some kind of internal crisis of the conscience. At least, I assume that's the case. Call it a gut instinct, but I know now that whatever Edward Cullen is, a pedophile he is not.
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By the following week, I'm mostly caught up in trigonometry. Mr. Cullen (as I've forced myself to think of him) came over as promised on Sunday and then again on Wednesday night to tutor me. We both seemed to be much more conscious of our interactions after our initial study session. He is more the teacher and less the big brother or confidant that he was that first night. I can handle that because my feelings for him are still there, utterly confusing and entirely inappropriate. I need the boundary line drawn plainly in the sand so I don't end up costing him his job or making either of us appear incestuous.
A month later, I've come to have a fairly easy relationship with Mr. Cullen in and out of school. With my ridiculous crush pushed aside, he's usually Edward at home and our friendship has actually helped me relate better to Carlisle and Esme. I'm still keeping my distance to a certain extent, but am able to interact with them more naturally. I feel a little more like myself, and I can manage to talk about my parents in small doses.
Of course, I still can't allow any discussion about details of my former life. I stick to what's written about my alias in the Social Services file they have on me and never deviate. I try to remain diligent as well, knowing that if I get too relaxed, I'll make small slips. I could never live with myself if I placed any of us at risk like that, so I do my best to be who they think I am. I work hard to be seventeen-year-old Anna Bella Dwyer.
Some days are easier than others. Dealing with petty high school crap when you're hiding from one of the world's most dangerous crime families gets under your skin. And as much as I try to stay above it all, I have to co-exist with these kids day in and day out. So, over time I've made a few friends; mostly girls who just needed someone to be kind to them.
One particularly difficult day in early March, one of those girls was targeted by a boy who'd made a bet that he could get her to offer him oral sex on school grounds. He even bragged he could convince her to let him videotape it. It was common knowledge among our peers that she had a crush on him, so she was elated when he started paying attention to her. Naturally, it destroyed her when she found out it was all a horrible prank.
The fact that people could actually treat other human beings so callously made me completely irate. After driving poor Whitney home and listening to her cry the whole way, I became so mad that I was literally ready to shoot something. I know that would sound extreme to anyone who didn't know I'm an internationally ranked marksmen, but I am. Or I was a few months ago. Back in those days, it wasn't uncommon for me to work out some of life's frustrations while I was at the range. Charlie taught me that shooting, like any sport, had therapeutic benefits when you took it seriously. I'd been lectured early on to never wield a gun while angry or upset, but experience taught me that if there was something on my mind, I usually felt better after a few hours honing my skills with a rifle or one of my dad's pistols.
Unfortunately, that isn't an option anymore. Which means that my current bad day has now been added to the ever growing frustration I've been feeling recently; a toxic cocktail of missing my parents, my home, my independence and my sport. As I drive towards the Cullens large and secluded house on an otherwise normal Friday afternoon, it's all too much. I'm one pissed off woman.
Until I see Deputy Marshal Whitlock replacing the mailbox at the end of his driveway.
I almost stop the car and roll down the window when I drive past him, but a slight shake of his head tells me not to. I'm surprised that I'd forgotten he told me to watch for the new mailbox. It's a signal. A sign that means he'll be leaving soon.
I make the turn into the Cullen's driveway and continue up the long path, slower than usual due to my pounding heart and overwhelmed mind. I feel both relieved and alarmed that this day has come. Knowing I'll be on my own in the near future tells me two things: First, I am safe here for now. And second, I probably won't be going anywhere for a while.
It doesn't take me but a moment to realize that it's the second half of that equation that has me distressed. Knowing I'll have to keep up with the lies? With the charade that's been weighing on me a little more each day? I'm not sure how much longer I can do it without cracking.
When my phone beeps, I can guess immediately who it is. Taking a deep breath, I slow the car to a stop along the winding drive and look at the message.
I need you to get away for a few hours tonight.
Msg me if you need help making it happen.
Port Angeles. 7pm. Meet outside the movie theater.
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End Notes:
So, a small cliffie there. Sorry about that. However, I think the next chapter will more than make up for it. ;)
Next update in a couple days. -Ginnie