-:-
Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen.
After counting each thunder clap, I was waiting not only for a brief flash of lightning to illuminate my bedroom, but also listening for sounds of life from the other side of the wall. So far, I hadn't heard even so much as a creak.
Twenty.
And still nothing from next door. It was possible that he never came back upstairs. Or maybe he had and I just didn't hear. Maybe he was simply down in the lobby.
I paused again to listen through the echoing reverberation of thunder. Maybe what I really needed to do was stop being such a weirdo and stop hypothesizing on whether Edward was presently in his bed or not.
I turned my head toward the window, watching the rain spatter and trickle down the pane like hurried tears when the lightning flashed again. Last night, I had been full of surprise at the complementary goodnight kiss in the hallway, and had an unusual amount of difficulty settling down. It was worse than the time I'd eaten three enormous pixie sticks on a dare. But somehow sleep eventually won me over, because at three-thirteen, I awoke with a start by a now too-familiar bang from the neighboring headboard on the other side of the wall, followed by subdued moaning.
Before I could think to get up and go over, he must have knocked an alarm clock radio off his night table because there was a sudden clatter and Mama Cass Elliott faintly sang "Make Your Own Kind of Music" for a few moments before being abruptly silenced, and I'd heard Edward exit his room soon after.
I did try to go after him, but when I'd opened my door, he was already out of sight. And unsure if he was going to disappear into the night in his car, I decided to stay put (especially since the quick jump I'd made getting out of bed sent a sharp ache through my side; I was still sore from Saturday). I'd listened for a while after that, but I was pretty sure that I didn't hear him return to his room before I had drifted back into an uneasy sleep—and then the storm had woken me around five-thirty.
Though it wasn't any of my business, I couldn't help wondering what on earth could be plaguing him so badly. We weren't exactly strangers anymore, but we weren't lifelong friends, either; I felt as though I shouldn't be so worked up over him, but I was. After a few more minutes of lying in bed, I begrudgingly got up to brush my teeth and decided I'd better take a fast shower, and pray not to get struck by lightning. Although, if I was feeling reckless, I figured I could put that handheld shower head to good use and relieve some stress.
In the end, I rushed through my shower, figuring I would save frisky activities for a day when there wasn't an air strike of electricity outside. With my luck, I would get struck, die, and my story would end up in the Darwin Awards entitled 'The Showering Shock-limax'.
After I was clean and refreshed, I put on some clothes that were appropriate for stormy weather—a sweatshirt and jeans—and decided to have a very early breakfast, seeing as it was only a quarter to seven. I tried to be extra quiet walking past Edward's door, figuring that if he had returned to his bedroom, he probably would have passed out in minutes with the intent of sleeping the day away. There was no way he could function with a practically nonexistent sleeping pattern for so long.
I walked downstairs to an empty lobby, feeling a little unsettled. Normally, it wouldn't have bothered me in the slightest to be alone, but that was before I'd seen Lauren's homicidal eyeballs nearly pop out of her head. My imagination started to run away with me, envisioning Lauren as Jack Torrence, hunting me around the lodge with an axe. And if she managed to chase me outside, I was sure to be knocked out by Jessica Stanley and then fed to a wood chipper.
"Morning, Ms. Bella."
At the sound of the voice behind me, I whirled around with a slight jump. Mr. Miller was sitting in front of the flickering fireplace with a chessboard and a cup of coffee, looking slightly amused at my reaction.
"Mr. Miller," I breathed in relief. "I didn't see you."
"Most don't," he said with a smile. "My apologies. I didn't mean to startle you, young lady."
"It's okay," I said, walking toward him. "I have a wild imagination. Too caught up in my thoughts to pay attention to what's going on around me."
"I've been guilty of that myself," said Mr. Miller, sipping his coffee. "What brings you downstairs at this hour?"
"The storm," I said, as the sound of thunder dauntingly grumbled from outside. "You, too?"
"Oh, no," he said as he set his cup down and started to set up his chessboard. "I found that the more I age, the earlier I rise. I usually start my mornings at five."
"I see," I said, giving him a small smile, thinking that anyone who woke up at five AM every day on purpose deserved an award. "Have you seen anyone else down here this morning?"
As in a green-eyed guy? Two borderline-deranged girls with manic eyes, chanting 'Redrum! Redrum!'?
I thought I sounded casual, but Mr. Miller raised his eyebrows in a telling manner. "You mean Edward?"
I bit my lip as I sat down in one of the armchairs. Edward had been right; I should have known by the stares at dinner last night that people had noticed us. Busted, Swan. "Yes," I admitted, curling myself to one side of the chair.
"I haven't seen him," he said, pulling chess pieces out of a small satchel and lining them up. "Though, I have noticed that he starts his mornings fairly early, too. Normally, I see him drive by when I'm coming back from my morning walks. I'd be on my way out right now, in fact, but this rain's got me stuck inside."
"Do you ever take the trail in the woods?" I asked, remembering one of the pamphlets Doris had given me that advertised scenic routes throughout the woods around the lodge.
"Oh, no," said Mr. Miller with a laugh. "No, missy, I stay out of the woods at all costs."
"Oh?" I said, playing with the drawstring on my sweatshirt. "Why's that?"
"Let's just say that I prefer to stay on the sides of the streets," he said, twisting a pawn between his thumb and forefinger. He set the piece down and pointed toward the door. "Those woods… they have a sort of pull on people. As secretive and tempting as they are from the outside, there are things inside that lay quiet, waiting for someone to come inside and be exposed."
"Like… bears?"
He let out a throaty chuckle. "Yes, missy. I suppose they are something to look out for. After all, not all woods are as calm as Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening categorizes them to be."
"You like Robert Frost?" I asked, smiling at the familiar title.
"I was a student of his back at Amherst," he said, as if it were something as casual as buying milk. "Man had quite a knack for the mysteries of nature."
I felt my eyelids nearly disappear back into my head as my eyes widened. "You—he taught you?"
"Yes, ma'am," Mr. Miller said. "I wish I could say that English was my prominent interest back then, but I was more inclined to study mathematics, physics—engineering and such. But I'll give it to him—he managed to teach my ignorant behind a thing or two about poetry."
"Like what?" I asked eagerly, fascinated that he had studied under my favorite poet.
Mr. Miller aligned a knight next to a rook, appearing deep in thought as he chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Well, take that poem for example. Some think of the symbolism as the run of a long life full of obligations. Some think he was just pondering about another run-in with nature. But I always belonged to the group that considered it a warning."
"How's that?" I said, curious.
"Like I said, Ms. Bella, the woods lure people in with their beauty, but don't most natural predators do the same?" he said. "The woods are wild, unpredictable. Unknown. They're lovely, yes, but they're dark and deep for a reason. I mentioned it to Professor Frost himself back then... he neither confirmed nor denied my theory. He only winked at me."
A loud clap of thunder sounded and I twisted in my seat to look out the window, watching a flash of lightning illuminate the trees outside. Oddly well-timed considering Mr. Miller's mysterious words.
"Of course, when you get to be my age, missy, you'll go through life hearing all sorts of things," he said, drawing my attention back to him. He gave me a halfhearted smile. "Can't be sure what's true and what's poppycock. Don't let an old man spoil your plans."
I nodded, thinking that I would have to go finish re-reading the book of Frost's poems to get better insight. Before I could answer, Doris walked out from the far hallway and gave us a huge smile.
"Good morning, John, Isabella!" Doris exclaimed, way too awake for the current hour. "My, aren't you two up early this morning. Of course, who could sleep with this racket going on? We're supposed to have a string of storms throughout the day, too. Have you both been waiting long? I put out the coffee pots in case of early risers, which here you are, but I haven't gotten around to the pastries and bagels yet. I have so much to do; you two enjoy yourselves."
I grinned at Doris's scatterbrained speech, which reminded me of Renée. "Don't worry, Doris, I'll help you," I said, standing up.
"Oh, would you, dear? I could barely bring myself to get out of bed this morning and now I'm moving at a snail's pace!"
"Sure," I agreed, turning to Mr. Miller and giving him a smile. "It was nice talking to you."
"You, too, missy," he said, holding his cup of coffee up in a 'cheers' gesture, then pointed to his chessboard. "Maybe I could interest you in a game sometime?"
"Yeah, I'd like that," I said, thinking that I'd probably last two minutes before he checkmated me. "I'll see you later. I hope you get to take your walk."
"Ah, me too," he said with a wave.
I helped Doris place numerous items around the buffet, and filled the juice and milk pitchers, settling them in the icy basin of the beverage bar. People eventually started coming down from the stairs, greeting everyone with a "Good Morning!" and exchanges of, "Can you believe this storm?"
Today, the café was more vacant than it had been in days past; it was still early, only ten after seven, but Doris informed me that now that the weekend was over, most of the guests had departed. Apparently the Forks senior center took trips every weekend at their occupants' leisure, so there were always different members coming and going, which explained a lot of the older folks I'd seen. It seemed that only a few new faces arrived to mesh with the other 'regulars' as Doris called them—passersby who made frequent deliveries to the town. So even though it was quieter inside, it was still bright and cheery, though the rain outside was a cloudy, foggy rival.
I helped myself to a mug of Earl Grey and a bowl of cereal from the buffet and sat at a table near the front of the café, by the window. After staring out into the downpour for a few moments, my eyes wandered to the front of the lobby, hoping to find something more interesting than a live take on the Weather Channel. Nothing. I yawned and sipped my tea as my thoughts circled Robert Frost, the storm outside, and the woods that I had yet to explore. There were so many mysteries, just as Doris had said before, when we were in Edward's room. I was aching to figure at least one of them out, starting with Edward himself.
Then, as if it had been scripted, I caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye, coming down the stairs.
So he had gone back to his room, after all. But how on earth could he possibly be awake already? I had certainly counted on him sleeping late into the morning, but there he stood—at least, a depressing version of him.
He looked awful.
He scanned the café before he noticed me and I raised my hand in a halfhearted wave. He walked over and slowly slid into the chair opposite me, looking as though he'd been the one recovering from a concussion. I could smell traces of soap and his hair was damp, so he had obviously showered, but he was pale as a sheet and his eyes carried familiar dark bags beneath them.
"Good morning," he mumbled quietly, not meeting my eyes.
I was trying not to stare, but I couldn't help being a little concerned. "Morning," I replied. "Are you okay?"
He nodded, brushing his wet hair out of his face and then proceeding to stare out the rain-spotted window.
Okay then.
"So… feeling selfish?" I asked, attempting to joke with him, but the only response I received was a pitiful glance of acknowledgment. A server who I hadn't met made her way over to our table and poured him a cup of coffee without being asked.
After taking one look at him, she left the pot.
"I'm surprised you're awake," I told him. His eyebrows raised a bit, but he didn't answer.
"Are you hungry?" I asked him.
He glanced up from his cup, his eyes as glazed as the blueberry pastries on the buffet table, and shook his head. It made me uneasy to see him act so withdrawn, especially after having such a seemingly pleasant evening the night before. I traced my fingers along my hairline, remembering the kiss he gave me and how entrancing it was to be so close to him, to have his hand in my hair and his lips on my skin… and then, the famous warning of staying away from him.
And yet, to nitpick, he wasn't exactly staying away from me, either. I knew I should give him a break, though—he'd had a rough night from the looks of it, plus he had done a lot for me in the past couple days. I decided not to pry and see if he would offer up any conversation himself; maybe he needed a few minutes to wake up.
Though as the minutes passed, I began to think he may not have fallen back asleep at all. Between sips of coffee, he constantly rubbed his eyes and attempted to stifle frequent yawns. Even though it was evident that he was tired, he seemed oddly aloof. Not only was he not talking, but he was avoiding eye contact as well. We sat in silence for a while longer, and when he poured himself a second cup of coffee in that short amount of time, I tried again.
"If something is wrong, do you want to talk about it?" I asked.
He shook his head again and clasped his mug of coffee, staring into the liquid as though he wanted to drown in it. I noticed his hands start to tremble slightly, so I reached out and pushed down on his wrist, forcing him to set the cup back on the table.
"Edward, you're shaking," I said, gently squeezing his arm. "Why don't you eat a piece of fruit or something?"
"I'm not hungry," he said in a bleak voice, finally raising his eyes to meet mine, and my stomach twisted at the look on his face. Whatever he was feeling had knocked the spirit right out of him.
"Are you sick?"
Edward took a short breath and shook his head again. "I'm fine."
His tone meant he was tired of my questions. Well, I was tired of searching for the key to his cryptic soul.
"Well, then what is it?" I said it quietly so that I didn't draw attention to us, but firmly enough to somewhat snap him out of his lethargic stupor.
He glanced up at me, looking surprised. "What?" he asked.
"I'm assuming you don't want me to leave you alone if you sat with me, but I hope you don't believe that I'm stupid enough to think that this—" I gestured between us, "is you acting fine."
His mouth parted and he stared at me, his eyes flickering with misunderstanding. "I never said you were—"
"Well you kind of did, saying you wished I had the sense to stay away from you—because we'd both be better off, isn't that right?" When he looked away without a response, I picked up my mug and stared out the window, avoiding eye contact with him as the seconds ticked by. Even without watching, I still knew what he was doing: narrowing his eyes to random spots in the room, trying to figure out a way to elude my question entirely.
After a few more minutes, though, guilt started to sprout in my stomach. I really didn't want him to feel bad—I was being overly-sensitive and ultimately wanted to see if I could help whatever was going on; if I couldn't, then fine, but I would never know unless he gave me something that answered a question and didn't raise more of them.
I played with my fingernails and finally looked at him. "I'm sorry. I just thought—"
"You apologize too much," he stated, irritable.
That hit a hot button.
"Well, maybe if you didn't have such a wretched look on your face, I wouldn't feel the need to apologize for speaking to you," I said, feeling my cheeks heat. Being cross with him wasn't exactly what I'd had in mind for the morning, but my own lack of sleep and failure to get any answers from him was making me crabbier than Lauren's underwear.
Edward creased his eyebrows and returned his attention to his coffee, leaning his head on his hand with a soft sigh. We were silent again after that. I ate my cereal robotically, not caring that it had gotten soggy while I'd been trying to pull information out of him. When I finished my last bite, I wiped my mouth with a napkin and pushed my bowl to the side. Edward mirrored my movement with his coffee cup and folded his hands on the table. We stared at each other for a few moments and I bit the inside of my lip as I realized the hint of irritation in his gaze had disappeared; dejection had replaced it.
Well, shit.
I sighed and reached to grasp his hands in mine. "Edward… what is wrong? Won't you tell me?"
He stiffened slightly, appearing uncomfortable. After a few moments, his throat bobbed with a swallow and very slowly, he slid his hands out from under mine and placed them securely in his lap. My hands felt frozen to the table for a few moments before I finally folded them back on my side.
It stung to feel him pull away from me.
A flash of lightning brightened the parking lot—enough to provide me a glimpse of my truck. At that moment, it would have been nice to just get up, go outside, and speed away until things made sense. Apparently I wasn't doing him any good at the moment and he didn't seem to want to talk or take my mediocre comfort. Plus, if I left now I could save myself any further embarrassment. Maybe I could hit an ATM and pay him back—even things out.
"Bella?"
Edward's voice was soft and hoarse as he spoke my name. I slowly turned my head to glance at him, eyeing him wearily.
He kneaded the spot between his eyebrows with his fingers before looking at me. "Do you think we could—"
I raised my eyebrows, waiting patiently for him to finish, but he just trailed off and eyed the coffee pot.
"Could we what?" I asked. Go somewhere? Do something? Be the next set of fourth-floor whores?
He cleared his throat. "Never mind."
I stared at him with my own tired expression. Pleading with him any longer would just feel desperate, and I couldn't force him to talk. I decided I was going back to bed. I didn't want to spend the day as cranky as I suddenly felt. Before I could make a move to stand up and bid Edward a goodbye, a light, singsong voice sounded from behind us.
"Mr. Masen!" I glanced over Edward's shoulder to see Doris flitting over to our table with her usual, warm smile set on her face. Even though her timing was normally off so far, right now she couldn't have stepped in at a better time. Edward seemed to be thinking the exact opposite as he sighed, letting his shoulders slump. Not whatsoever did he look in the mood to act jovial.
Doris stopped at our table and placed her hand on Edward's shoulder. "Hello, dear, this will only take a second. How are you this morning?"
"Fine, thank you," Edward said, but even Doris frowned a bit at the sound of his voice. Well, at least it wasn't just me.
"Good morning again, Isabella," Doris said to me with a kind smile. "Pardon me for interrupting, but I wanted to ask Mr. Masen a quick question."
I smiled back, suddenly feeling like giving Edward a little payback. "Hi, Doris," I said, folding my napkin and setting it to the side. "Feel free. I was just leaving, so you can have my seat."
I stood up and Edward gave me a confused look, and I tried not to feel sorry. Maybe he could stand to know a fraction of what it felt like to be pushed away for once.
"Oh," said Doris, a bit surprised. Her eyes turned to Edward, taking in his sleepy presence. "Well, it won't take but a minute. There's no need for you to go, dear."
"It's okay," I said, stepping out of her way. "I was just going to talk to Mr. Miller, anyway. You know… branch out my company." I gave Edward a short, pointed look. "Have a good morning, you two."
And then I walked away, leaving him and Doris staring after me. There was no use staying where I wasn't wanted. I made my way over to the fireplace where, thankfully, Mr. Miller's was still sitting.
I paused for a moment as he looked up quizzically. "Can I take you up on your offer?" I asked humbly, pointing to his chessboard.
He smiled and gestured to a chair beside him. "Have a seat."
I spent the next two hours hearing stories about his four children and eight grandchildren and getting my ass kicked at chess. He didn't speak of the woods again.
When the rain finally let up, Mr. Miller jumped at the chance to go for his morning walk. He politely asked me if I'd like to join him, but I declined genially, figuring that he enjoyed that time by himself. I sat for a few more minutes in the soft armchair, the fuzzy fabric making me want to curl up and take a nap. I yawned and glanced at the grandfather clock. Ten-ten. If I was going to make it through the rest of the day, a nap was probably a good idea.
I felt a twinge of guilty regret, thinking that I had probably just destroyed any progress Edward and I would make that day. But what else could I have done? Tied him down and forced him to talk to me? Besides the fact that I was finally listening to his advice, I supposed he could be taking the very opportunity to finally stay away from me, too.
As I stood, I subconsciously glanced around to see if he was still downstairs. He wasn't in the café—not that I expected him to be. Maybe he was running an errand for Doris, like picking up groceries or an order for the lodge. Maybe he went to a bar—he did look as though he was in need of numbing his silent pain, after all. But then I saw it through the watery-streaked window: his Volvo, parked where it usually was. Unless he was hiding in the Entertainment or Dining Hall, I figured he must be in his room.
I climbed the stairs slowly and timidly, replaying his earlier words in my head: 'Do you think we could…' Again, I tried finishing his thought in my head: "Do you think we could take a drive and let me explain, Bella? Fall madly in love? Go somewhere more private so you can 'help' me sleep?"
When I entered my room, I closed my curtains and climbed into bed, only stopping to remove my shoes. I buried myself under the comforter and hugged one of the fluffy pillows, hoping to drift off before another storm could start and keep me awake. I chewed my thumbnail in nervous apprehension, imagining Edward on the other side of the wall, doing the same as I was. I heard nothing but silence; maybe he had tried going back to sleep (if he was even there). As flustered as I felt about everything, I truly hoped if that was the case that he was successful.
-:-
I woke a couple hours later to my cell phone ringing like an annoyed hyena. I untangled myself from the comforter and reached for it, nearly toppling out of bed as I grabbed it. I didn't recognize the number.
"Hello?" I said, my heart picking up as I considered the possibility that Edward might have gotten my number from Doris.
"Bella? Hi, it's Angela."
"Hey," I said enthusiastically. Even though I'd been hoping to hear Edward's voice, it was a nice surprise to hear from her. "How's it going?"
"Fine," she said cheerfully. "I hope you don't mind that I got your number from Doris. I just left the hospital. I worked a double last night."
Didn't we all?
"God, I'll bet you're tired," I said, wondering if anyone I knew here ever got a good night's sleep. "Are you heading home?"
"Actually, I was calling to see if you wanted to hang out or something," she said cordially. "I slept in an on-call room from eight this morning until twenty minutes ago, and now I'm hungry and ready to have a social life."
I laughed. "Are you sure you don't want to go home and crash for longer?"
"No, I'm too anxious," she said. "I'm supposed to meet Ben later tonight and I'd like your company if you're free. That is, unless you have plans with Edward."
She spoke his name with a teasing tone, but I felt a pang in my stomach.
"Nope, I'm free," I said. "And I want to hear all about this date you're going on. Where do you want to meet?"
"Maybe the diner out on Forks Road?" she suggested. "It's not far from the lodge at all. Just turn right out of the drive and make a left at the first stoplight. It's right past the gas station."
"Sure," I said, bouncing off my bed and taking a quick look at myself in the mirror. "Like fifteen minutes, maybe?"
"That's perfect," she said. "Thanks, I owe you."
"Oh, whatever," I said, thinking of all that she had done for me already. "I'm just excited that I get to tease you, for once."
She laughed and we hung up soon after. I grabbed my jacket and purse, and locked my door behind me as I stepped into the hall. I quietly walked by Edward's door and then turned around and stared at it. I narrowed my eyes, kind of wanting to knock and check to make sure he was all right.
Don't you dare.
I took a deep breath and rounded on my toes, proceeding to descend the stairs. I waved to Doris on my way out and pulled up the hood of my sweatshirt as I walked outside into a misty drizzle. My truck sat waiting for me like a forgotten, lost toy and I smiled as I reached the door.
"Sorry, baby, it's been a boggling couple of days," I said, opening the creaky door and hoisting myself inside. It was nice to be back in my familiar safe haven.
I backed out of the space, checking my rearview mirror very vigilantly, again seeing Edward's car a few feet away. I couldn't help but feel like I was leaving him like a helpless puppy out in the rain, so to speak, and my heart felt as though it was sliding into my stomach. As bothered by his silence as I was, my intention hadn't been to hurt him, just to knock some sense into him. I hoped I had made the right decision in choosing to leave him alone.
-:-
"Isabella Swan, you are an idiot."
I continued to chant 'idiot' over and over as I ran up to the lodge's door, rain pouring onto me in pelting sheets. From the time that I had started driving back, the sky had apparently decided to join forces with Poseidon, because it only took seconds before a torrential downpour had totally slammed Forks. This town and its rain. In Jacksonville, it stormed a lot, but it was usually only for ten minutes and then the sun came back out like it had just gotten back from a coffee break.
Coffee. That's what I needed right now.
As planned, Angela and I had met for lunch. After exchanging stories about the new men in our lives (well, back in her life for her), I accompanied her to her apartment to help her choose an outfit for her date with Ben. I played with Angela's cat while she took a shower and after hanging out for a few more hours, we both left for a small bar on the outskirts of Forks, as if you could actually get any more 'outskirt' in this town.
It was happy hour, so we'd both decided to take advantage and have a drink. Just one.
After two rather sizable glasses of Sangria and a lemon drop shot each, we were reduced to a giggling mess. Thank God Angela was meeting Ben at nine o'clock, for we might not have been able to sober up any earlier.
Ben arrived a few minutes before nine, and at their request, I hung around for a little while longer. Also, I distinctly remembered giving my phone number to some guy named Brandon during the last half hour of my buzz. He got a little too touchy-feely after that, trying to grab my ass and then offering the explanation that he was just "checking out the stitching on my jeans." He smelled oddly like sour mustard and stale beer when he'd leaned in close to me, and not surprisingly, it triggered a too-close-to-home memory. I took that as good timing to give Angela and Ben some privacy and said my goodbyes, making sure to 'accidentally' nudge her into him on my way out.
As I got into my truck, I realized that I wasn't quite able to drive yet, so I leaned back in my seat and listened to the distant bass and music coming from the inside of the bar. Soon after, I had fallen asleep and eventually woke to the sounds of pattering drops on the roof of my truck, which prompted me to get a move-on before it increased to a rampant rush of water. Which is exactly what happened after I started the engine. I drove slowly back to the lodge, peering through the black sheets of water like a half-blind old lady, only to arrive back in the parking lot shortly after midnight.
I opened the front door to the lodge, the little bell greeting me with an ironic, happy jingle. I'd had fun with Angela, but what on earth had I been thinking giving my phone number to some random guy?
There was no question: I'd been a stupid, impetuous, Sangria-saturated flirt, sad and worried about a guy of a thousand mysteries, so the solution was putting myself out there to a drunken stranger. Awesome.
The lobby was empty and dark, with only one dimly-lit recess light over the café, and those that were over the stairs. I was glad—undoubtedly, I looked like a drowned rat and Doris probably would have tried to fetch me a blanket and a hot water bottle, mirroring a scene out of a Jane Austen novel. I shook the water out of my jacket and started making the climb up Mount St. Stairwell.
I was out of breath as I got to the top of the stairs and tried to walk soundlessly down the hallway to my room, my eyes lingering for a few moments on Edward's door. I couldn't hear anything; it wasn't as if our rooms had televisions, but I was curious to know if he was even here. I'd forgotten to check if his car was still parked out front—
Stalker, my brain warned.
"Jesus, no wonder you're single," I scolded myself. I quickly unlocked my door and went into my room, softly closing the door behind me.
I peeled off my wet clothes, hanging them over the desk chair to dry, and changed into a tank top and flannel pants. I brushed my damp hair and used a towel to try to soak up the leftover rainwater. At least my hair smelled good now; the aroma of fresh rain and the lemon-scented towels made me feel somewhat better.
As I came out of the bathroom, a low buzzing sound came from the opposite wall. I noticed my cell phone spinning in a slow circle, vibrating against the surface of my night table. I hadn't even realized that I'd left it here all night. I walked over to the table and unplugged it from the charger, just in time to have missed the call. But that wasn't the only one... I had eight missed calls.
The one that had just happened was from an unknown number. I narrowed my eyes toward the wall that divided Edward's room and mine.
Would he really have called? He would have had to ask for—no, wait.
I dug in my discarded jeans for the napkin Brandon had given me at the bar. The napkin was wet and nearly falling apart, but I could still make out a number scrawled in black ink across the bottom. Yup. A match. He'd called me already. Ugh.
I scrolled down on my calls list to see that the other seven were from home. What the hell?
I sighed and rolled my phone in my hand. There was no telling whether Renée had received my voicemail or not. But whatever constituted seven phone calls must have been important. I hoped there hadn't been an emergency. Maybe Charlie had proposed… God help us all if Renée was pregnant.
It was after three AM Eastern time, but their last phone call had been at eleven-forty-two Pacific time, less than thirty minutes ago. They might still be awake, especially after calling me all night. Nervously bouncing on my toes, I dialed my home number, hoping that everything was okay and that whoever answered would be calm.
A click sounded, followed by a harsh, "Isabella Marie Swan!"
Apparently, I was in no such luck. My mouth dropped and I suddenly regressed back into a guilty eight year-old who had something to hide. "Hi, Mom. What's wrong?"
Her voice was frantic. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah," I answered, looking around my room in paranoia as if she could see me somehow.
"Well, that's good to know!" Renée snapped. "Since when does getting hit by a car qualify as something not to tell us about?"
"How did you know about that?" I asked in surprise.
"Do you think your father's precinct wouldn't call him about something like that?" she practically screamed into the phone.
Charlie's precinct? How did the Forks Police know about my accident? Gossipy little mountain town.
"Mom," I said calmly. "You're shrieking."
"Honestly!" Renée continued, not listening. She was in full mom-meltdown. "They said you were harassed by a group of men and fell into the street and got hit! How do you think I reacted when I heard that? Why didn't you call us?"
"I did call!" Conveniently, I omitted the fact that I had called with no news of my accident. "I left you a message on your cell yesterday."
Renée huffed. "Bella, you know that phone is unreliable. Even if you forgot—yes, Charlie, she's all right—even if you forgot, it shouldn't have stopped you from calling the house, or your father for that matter! Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yes, Mom, calm down," I said quickly. "I left my phone here tonight and only now saw that you called all seven times. I went to the hospital the other night and got treated, came back to the lodge and slept through the whole day yesterday." Okay, that was technically untrue, but there was no need to rile her up any more than she already was. "I'm fine."
"What did the doctor say?" she asked, and then I heard her pull the phone away from her face and say, "No, Charlie, the blue one's bigger. Don't use the black one—the zipper's broken."
"I have a mild, mild concussion, and it doesn't even hurt anymore," I said, my eyebrows creasing at her words, suddenly comprehending what she might be referring to. "Are you talking about your suitcases?"
"Well, did you honestly think we were going to sit at home and not come to you?" she answered as if it was clearly obvious.
A dart of panic hit me in the chest and I sat down on my bed with a huff. Part of the reason I came to Forks was so my parents wouldn't have to continue to worry about me, and the last thing I wanted was for them to show up. "Mom, put Charlie on the phone. You're not coming up here."
"The hell we're not!"
"Stop acting like I'm a child."
I heard her sigh in exasperation. "You're going to give me a heart attack one day, Bella."
"Yes, I'm complete heart failure for everyone these days," I said, monotone. "Are you going to put Charlie on?"
I heard a slight shuffling noise, followed by Renée's muffled, "Charlie, she wants to talk to you." A moment later, I heard Charlie's deep voice. "Bells?"
"Hey, Dad," I said, calmed by the sound of his voice. "Don't freak out, okay? You two don't have to come up here. I'm fine."
I proceeded to give Charlie the rundown of what happened, omitting the fact that flashbacks of Phil were the reason I'd blindly stumbled into the street. "I had a couple of CT scans and an IV, and I'm totally fine," I reassured him. "That's it, really. And I've been taking it easy since, I promise."
"Still, honey, I don't see what the big deal is if we come up and make sure you're okay," said Charlie. "I've been meaning to visit, anyway—"
"I've only been here a few days, though. That's hardly a break on my part. Dad, you know me, I can take care of myself," I said, slightly pleading. "And you called Forks the safest place that existed in the entire Northwest."
"I know," Charlie said, sighing lightly into the receiver. "That was before you got knocked in front of a car by a group of—"
"Actually, I fell into the street," I reminded him.
"We don't want you to be alone if you're hurt," said Charlie calmly.
I leaned against my pillows, stretching my free hand back and tracing my fingertips over the carved, wooden headboard. "I'm not alone, I'm at the lodge with Doris. Plus, I made friends with Angela Weber. Do you remember her?"
After a slight hesitation, Charlie said, "Yeah. She's a good kid. Works over at the hospital. Still—"
"I was out with her tonight, in fact," I cut in. "Oh! And you know who else is here? Tom. The chef who makes that sweet potato pie that you go bat-shit over?"
"Bella—"
"And Edward has been—" I stopped, my brain running faster than my mouth. Oops. Mentioning Edward probably wasn't something that would exactly comfort Charlie.
As if scripted, Charlie asked in a firm, fatherly voice. "Who's Edward?"
I closed my eyes and took a quiet, even breath.
"A friend I made," I said carefully. "He's in the room next to me. He's been great. Very helpful after this whole... car thing."
"How old is he?"
I had absolutely no idea.
"Uh," I said, nervously tapping my fingers against the headboard. "In his twenties, I guess."
I heard Charlie take a short breath. "You don't know?"
"Well, no," I admitted. "I never came out and asked him directly. He doesn't look too much older than I do. Maybe twenty-six?"
"I think we should come up there," Charlie said decisively.
"Oh, not because of my head anymore, just because I met someone with a penis?" I blurted without thinking.
Charlie stammered on the other line, and I quickly sat up and said, "Listen, do you want me to wake up Doris? She will ease all of your fears, trust me."
If anyone could talk up Edward like he was a saint, it was Doris, even if she was awakened after midnight to do so. Charlie started to protest, but I walked toward my door anyway and pulled it open, freezing in place when I saw what was there.
"Edward," I said in soft surprise.
He was standing right in front of the doorway, arm raised as if he was about to knock. He looked a little better from earlier; he still seemed a little weary, but he wasn't as pale and looked as though he might have finally gotten back to sleep—that is, until I had started talking on the phone, probably.
Shit. Thin walls.
"Is this a bad time?" he asked.
I watched his motions and swallowed, knowing that a flow of blood was creeping into my cheeks. I didn't know how long he'd been standing there—probably just long enough to overhear me talk about the fact that he had a dick. But then Charlie's voice brought me back to reality.
"Hello? Bella! Are you still there?"
"Yes" I said into the phone, still not taking my eyes off of Edward.
He took a step back. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "I'll talk to you later."
What? Oh!
"No!" I cried, louder than I meant to, pressing my phone to my chest. "I mean, no it's not a bad time. It's fine, I—Dad?" I returned my attention to my phone for a moment. "Can I call you back?"
"That boy is in your room? At—after midnight?"
I stuttered incoherently over my words before breaking into a nervous laugh. "He's not here for that. Jesus." My face felt like it was the color of the Sangria I'd consumed earlier. "I just—I think I woke him when I called you."
I mouthed an apology to Edward. How humiliating.
"It's okay, you didn't," he said, almost whispering. "Sorry to interrupt. I can just talk to you in the morn—"
I reached out and grabbed his arm, pulling him inside my room, and closed the door. Edward complied without protest, but he still gave me a puzzled look.
"Let me talk to him," said Charlie from the other end of the phone.
"What? No." Any interrogation that Charlie could concoct would send Edward running for sure. "That's ridic—"
"Just let me speak to him for a minute," Charlie pressed, his cop-voice coming out to play.
"Dad, no," I said firmly. "Just—give me a second."
I put my phone on the bed, covering it with a pillow, hoping to block anything audible from Charlie, and sighed heavily.
Edward stared back at me in concern. "Is everything okay?"
"My parents just found out about what happened in Port Angeles," I explained quietly. "They're freaking out and talking about coming here. I'm trying to convince them that I'm okay and that they don't need to because if they did... I don't know, it would defeat the purpose of me giving them space. And drive me absolutely crazy."
Edward nodded in understanding and sat on the edge of my bed.
"Now my dad wants to talk to you because he's overprotective," I said, rolling my eyes, "and I'm just—" I sighed. He probably thought I was nuts. I should have just agreed to talk with him in the morning.
He shrugged. "I'll talk to him. If it will make him feel better, then I'm okay with it."
"Oh, no, you don't have to do that," I said quickly. "I'm just going to say goodbye. Do you mind waiting a minute?"
"Bella, it's no big deal," he said, reaching his hand out. "I understand his concern. It's all right."
I stared at his outstretched hand in confusion. Edward 'Mind-Locked' Masen was open to talking to Charlie, my Chief of Police father, but he could barely get out a sentence to me that morning. At that moment, I half expected a pig to fly over my shoulder and say, "Hell was pretty cold today."
Slowly retrieving my cell, I put it to my ear again, thinking that if anything, Charlie would get the reassurance he needed that I was all right, and that Edward wasn't some guy I'd picked up off the street to stay with me. "Okay, here he is," I said, hesitant. "Be nice. You have one minute."
"All right, then," Charlie answered.
Reluctantly handing the phone to Edward, I sat next to him on the bed and clutched the pillow to my chest.
"Hello, Mr. Swan?" Edward said.
I closed my eyes and tried to breathe evenly. This was unbelievably embarrassing.
"Yes, sir. Masen." Edward paused and looked at me. "Well, actually, it's like Bella said—I heard her from my room. It's late, after all, and I wanted to make sure everything was okay."
I stared at him with wide, apologetic eyes, unable to look elsewhere or even distract myself with folding clothes or tidying up. I was frozen to the spot.
"Twenty-seven," said Edward, still answering Charlie's questions.
Probably his age, I thought.
I tapped my foot nervously, thinking that approximately fifteen seconds had gone by. Forty-five to go. I could hear Charlie's muffled, nearly silent voice on the other line, but I couldn't make out what he was saying.
"Her doctor asked if there was anyone who could stay with her for the next twenty-four hours after she left the hospital, just to make sure she didn't develop any worsening symptoms or complications," Edward said, his hand habitually running through his hair. Charlie was probably making him nervous."So, I stayed with her. Honestly, sir, I have her best interests at heart."
I chewed anxiously on my thumbnail, wondering how he could speak so openly to Charlie without so much as a waver in his voice. Thirty more seconds.
"Yes, I was. Well, I was with her when it happened."
Edward started playing with the hem of his shirt, turning the fabric into a tight twist. He was nervous. I reached out to take the phone, but Edward leaned away from me before I could grab it.
"Chicago, sir." Edward glanced at me again, narrowing his eyes to the door. "Well… yes, you could say that. I'm sorry?"
I straightened my back. "What's he saying?"
Edward's eyebrows creased and he stood up, still pressing my phone to his ear. "No, I do." Another pause. "Anthony."
Wondering who the hell Anthony was, I kept my gaze locked on Edward's face as he slowly walked to the bathroom door and back. Fifteen more seconds.
He listened for a few moments before saying, "Yes, that's right." Silence. "I worked for a law firm, sir." I watched him carefully as he paused to listen to Charlie, and after a few seconds, I could have sworn I saw the luster in his eyes diminish. He glanced up at me, almost as if he needed help with an answer. He swallowed, cleared his throat, and spoke quietly. "Um…"
He was growing pale right before my eyes. Without hesitating, I leapt up from the bed and snatched the phone out of his hand. He didn't make a move to dodge me this time, either.
"Time's up, Charlie," I said with an accusatory tone, wondering what the hell he had been saying. "Are you satisfied?"
I heard Charlie take a short breath. "I'll call you back, Bella," he said simply, and promptly hung up the phone before I could complain.
I stared at the screen, watching the little words "Call Ended" before the screen went dark. Great. He was probably going to go check and see if Edward had a record. I looked up at Edward, who was staring at the floor.
I was mortified. "If he said anything inappropriate, I'm so sorry. I knew I shouldn't have given you the phone."
"It's fine. He was just looking out for you," he said quietly, finally lifting his head. "He didn't say anything uncalled for, I promise."
I was confused. He didn't seem to be lying, but something was wrong. "Then why do you look so upset?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "I've never really spoken to anyone's worried father," he said, giving me a small smile. "I guess I was nervous that I would say something wrong."
Okay, now he was lying. Charlie must have gone all police officer and told him not to touch my penguin panties or he would come and give Edward a new meaning of 'Happy Feet' by aiming a Glock .40 at his toes.
I tossed my phone on the bed, shaking my head meekly. "I'm sorry," I continued.
Edward shook his head. "It's fine."
I gave a short laugh. "No, it's humiliating. I bet your father wouldn't demand personal information from me to run a background-check, would he?"
While Edward had only looked slightly pale a few moments ago, I watched as the color literally drained from his face; he looked as though he'd just participated in a blood drive. Twice.
He opened his mouth, but seemed to have trouble speaking. He looked panicked. Honestly, in that moment, I felt the same.
"Did—your father—" He ran his hand over his face, distressed. "He's background-checking me?"
Oh dear God. He probably thought my family and I were madcap stalkers.
"I'm sorry, it's not what it sounds like," I stammered, taking a step toward him, then after a beat, I followed with, "Never mind, it's exactly what it sounds like. I mean, he used to be the Chief of Police here. I told you that, didn't I? It's like a routine to him, and—I'm sorry, that sounds horrible. And it doesn't make it okay. I won't let—"
Suddenly, he brushed past me to the door. He glanced back at me for a moment, barely whispering, "I'm sorry."
He disappeared into the hallway and shut the door, a loud click echoing his departure. I stared after him, my mouth half-open, too late to stop him with words. I didn't blame him, really. I might have fled the prying, shady family scene, too, if I had been in his shoes.
Feeling close to tears, I sat down right on the floor, not wanting to curl up on my bed or go take a warm, calming shower. I wanted to sit and do nothing. And as much as I wanted to feel nothing, I felt a triple-blended whirl of feelings: shame, confusion, and devastation.
He probably was never going to speak to me again.
I was stupid for letting him speak to Charlie in the first place. I was more stupid for not calling my parents the second the accident had happened. But I was the most stupid for not taking a goddamned self-defense class so I could have been the one to beat up those drunken idiots and their fucking overalls, which would have prevented this whole mess.
My phone rang.
Jesus fucking H. Christ.
I pushed myself up and grabbed my phone. Home. "Hello?" I demanded.
"Bella?" Charlie inquired.
Ugh. That voice was never good.
"What now?" I asked harshly, still painfully aware that Charlie had just caused a major upset.
"Do you have any idea who that boy is and what he's done?"
"Well, I just—" And then I stopped.
What he's done?
"Hold on a second," I said, taking the phone away from my ear and putting it back against my chest, feeling my heart start to pound in creeping suspicion. I narrowed my eyes to the door and then to the wall—the wall that separated Edward and me. I listened carefully and heard a distinct thump.
It didn't make sense… Or did it? Could he have done something wrong? Was he running from something?
He never wanted to talk about why he left home; maybe he had good reason. Or maybe he didn't want me to know because if he told me, then he'd have to kill me. But then, as I thought about it, it did make sense. Maybe he was in trouble.
I finally put the phone back to my ear, hearing Charlie's muffled incoherent words."—ella? Are you there?"
"Yes, I'm right here," I said, feeling a little dizzy. "Charlie—what—"
"Is he still there?" he demanded.
"Of course not, you freaked him out!" I exclaimed. "What did you say to him?"
"I only asked him some questions," said Charlie. "I wanted to see if he would tell the truth, and he did. He just omitted the fact that he—"
"Stop," I said firmly. "What are you trying to say, that he's dangerous?"
"I'm saying that you don't know what he's been involved in and I'm going to tell you," said Charlie, taking a deep breath, preparing to finally give me insight on everything that I'd been guessing about from the first time I laid eyes upon Edward.
"No, you won't," I said steadfastly. "He is."
And with that, I hung up, stuffed my phone into my pocket, and went out the door. I combed my fingers through my damp hair and sucked in a deep breath as I walked to Edward's door. Fear bubbled in my throat; I had no idea what I was stepping into.
The thing was, I honestly didn't believe that he was dangerous. He was the one who took me in his arms when I couldn't walk up the stairs. He was the one who sat by my side in the hospital and watched over me all night when I needed someone. He was the one who kissed my forehead right here in this hallway, his touch gentle and assuring.
He couldn't be dangerous.
My thoughts fueled me enough to make the final few steps to his door and I reached up to knock, but then I noticed that his door was ajar. From inside, I heard a shuffle, a clank, and a low thump.
Without bothering to debate with myself, I pushed his door open to be welcomed with the same marvelous scene as the last time I'd seen his room. The fireplace was still unlit, though the faint odor of charred wood lingered in the air, but his lamps were on, casting a magnificent glow throughout the beautiful room. The one change, however, was Edward's presence. He whipped his head up at the movement and stared at me. I stared right back.
"The door was open," I said softly, trying to appear poised. The sounds I'd heard was him opening and closing the dresser drawers.
He had a handful of t-shirts in one hand and his other hand was holding his black canvas bag, which appeared to be half-stuffed with clothing. His actions froze for a few moments as he watched me from the corner of his room, his face flashing different emotions: trepidation, suspicion, perplexity, and vulnerability. He was the cornered animal, and I was the hunter.
After a few seconds, he pushed the handful of shirts into his bag and then tossed the entire thing on his bed. "Your father called you back," he stated plainly.
"Yes," I said, feeling my heart stutter in my chest as he gazed into my eyes.
He nodded slowly, running his hands through his hair. His expression was one of a curious deliberation. "Did he tell you?" he asked softly.
"No," I answered, stepping into his room without permission. "What are you doing?"
"Packing," he said, turning to open another drawer.
I moved quickly, grabbing his arm and pulling, forcing him to face me. "But why? Because of me?"
"No," he said, reaching inside a drawer, not allowing himself to stop for anything. "Not because of you. Because of me."
"That doesn't make sense," I said, remembering my fear of him suddenly taking off without an explanation. "Can you explain it to me? I just want to…"
I stopped speaking when he pulled a folded stack of boxer shorts out of the drawer. The pair on top was green, printed with little cartoon leprechauns. I suddenly couldn't remember what I was going to say.
"Bella, please, there's nothing I can say that would make this any easier," he said, rubbing his eyes with his free hand.
The leprechauns were holding pots of gold and little clovers, like an animation from a Lucky Charms box. Scattered between the pictures, there was a phrase.
'Me bum is magically delicious.'
He caught me staring with wide eyes, then hastily shoved the boxers into his bag.
"Ed-Edward," I stammered, trying to dispel a sudden urge to laugh, "just wait a minute! Look, I'm sorry about my dad. He had no right to pry into your privacy. I just want to help you, okay?"
"Help me?" he repeated, scoffing. "You can't help me."
"Are you in some kind of trouble?" I asked, watching feebly as he finished packing his bag and zipped it shut. "Are you running from something—someone? Because if you are, I—"
He leaned down to the floor and then slid a second bag out from under his bed and placed it atop his comforter.
"I'll help you pack!" I blurted out. "Or do you want me to carry this down to your car? Are the police coming or something?"
Edward finally ceased his continuous movement and looked at me, confused, almost coldly. "No. I'm not running from the police."
My cell phone rang from inside my pocket and I quickly pulled it out. Home. I silenced it without another thought, turning my attention back to Edward. "Well, then why do you have to leave now? At twelve-thirty in the morning?"
He sighed exasperatedly and returned to pulling things out of his dresser. "Because if I don't leave now, I'll—"
"What?" I cut in, my heart pounding. "You'll have to explain things? So you'd rather duck out and have me hear it from someone else?" When he didn't answer, I continued, "If you're not in trouble or some kind of fugitive, then what could possibly be so terrible that you have to run in the middle of the night?"
His fatigue was showing clearly now, and I could see his hands shaking as he grasped one of the bedposts. "I don't want to drag you down with me," he said in a small voice as he rubbed his forehead. "There's no reason for you to get involved."
I slid his second bag away from him as he reached for it again. "I'd have to be heartless not to care about what's going on," I said. "You barely sleep, and when you do, you have nightmares—I can see what they do to you on the outside, and I can't imagine how they make you feel on the inside. I've seen pain in your eyes every day, and who knows how long that's been there before we met."
"I know all this," said Edward brusquely, snatching his bag back from me. "My question is, why are you concerned? Why are you so ready to help me run from phantom police and bandage up my weary soul?"
"Because, you—you make me feel…" I was failing miserably at getting my point across. "You did something to me. You made me open up to you—"
"I didn't make you do anything," he snapped. He might have been trying to hurt my feelings, but all that was coming across was transparent worry on his part.
"I mean you made something come alive in me," I said, trying to block him from the dresser so he couldn't grab any more of his belongings. "I feel good when I'm with you. And you don't understand, I haven't characterized anything as good for two years."
"Yes, well, this idea that you have that I'm good to be around is all in your head," he said, furrowing his eyebrows in impatience.
"Don't tell me what's in my head," I replied firmly. "You tell me you're drawn to me, but that I should stay away from you. Then you say all these thoughtful, caring things last night, but then push me away. Now, you're going on to say that I'm imagining all of this?"
This was a complete and utter mindfuck. He raised his eyes to meet mine and the sight of him gave me chills. His eyes had become almost visibly darker and dismal; I'd never seen someone look so haunted.
My cell phone rang again and I swiftly silenced it, not bothering to check who was calling. I already knew.
"I don't want to hear it from Charlie," I managed to say in a steady voice. "Even if you leave, he'll tell me sooner or later. I don't want my last memory of you to be like this—trying to run as if I'd have a different opinion of you just because I'll know the truth about you."
"You would," he replied, swinging his bag to the floor.
I walked closer until I was right in front of him. He looked over my head at first, but I reached over and took his hands in mine, praying that my palms weren't sweating. "Try me," I said softly, tracing my thumbs over his knuckles.
He didn't look like himself. He had an insubordinate expression on his face, something that I presumed he had practiced for a long time. But I saw through it—he was afraid.
"You keep fighting this, but sooner or later, you're going to shatter."
It was slow, probably only triggered from his exhaustion, but his defiant stare faltered gradually and his shoulders wilted. He closed his eyes and sighed, defeated, as he finally sank down onto his bed. My hands slid from his and I copied him, sitting down beside him.
I tentatively put my hand on his arm, saying, "I'm not going anywhere."
With a breathy sigh, he mumbled, "Even if you were told that I killed someone?"
And there it was. My lips parted and I slowly narrowed my eyes.
He killed someone.
Silent seconds ticked by as I processed his words, and I waited. I waited for some kind of horrible feeling to spread through my stomach or to start feeling panic of some sort to solidify me. I waited for physical dizziness to overwhelm me or cause me to faint. But none of it came.
"Who?" I asked.
He slowly lifted his head and stared at me in bewilderment. "Does it matter?"
I narrowed my eyes, thinking about my answer carefully. "Yes. What happened?"
He was inhaling almost rhythmically, as if he was afraid of forgetting how to breathe properly. "I was at my parents' house… house-sitting. I woke up in the middle of the night to sounds coming from downstairs. Glass breaking, someone coming up the stairs… And I'd had a rough weekend, so I wasn't thinking straight. I never even thought to call the police."
He started to fidget nervously with his hands, so I grasped one of them with my own.
"I just grabbed my father's gun and I waited. I didn't know who it was or what their intention was. And then, they came upstairs, and when they came into my room, I shot." He shook his head and looked at the floor again. "It was a thirteen year old kid. Our neighbor, Justin."
The boy who disturbed his dreams. I felt sick as I watched Edward's face twist in silent agony.
"I called for an ambulance, but he was dead before they got there," he said, twisting his free hand into his t-shirt by his stomach. "I didn't mean to kill him. I didn't mean to kill anybody. All I knew was that someone broke into my house and I panicked." The last word he spoke in a whisper.
He squeezed my hand with his trembling fingers, and I slid my other hand around his back. Slowly, I placed my head against his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his skin against my cheek.
"I'm sorry, Edward." What else was there to say, after all?
For a few moments, he rested his head on top of mine, sliding his other hand through my hair. If he was going to cry, I knew I would, too. But he didn't.
Instead, he suddenly stood up, and to my surprise, reached for his discarded bag on the floor and set it back on his bed. For a second, I thought he was going to start unpacking, but I was shocked when he turned and continued to pull the rest of his clothes out of the dresser and stuff everything into the bag in front of him. I watched silently, stunned, wondering why he was still leaving. He just told me his secret; there was nothing else to say, right? Eventually, I rose from my spot and curled my hands around one of the bedposts.
"You're still going?" I asked softly. My chest started aching, the kind of grim feeling you get when you've lost something important.
He exhaled loudly and zipped his bag, now completely packed and ready to go. "Yes. I'm sorry for all the trouble I've put you through."
"You're not trouble," I protested. "I don't understand why you keep saying that."
He lifted his bags up and tossed them to the floor in front of the fireplace. Suddenly appearing angry, he penetrated me with an intense gaze, locking me to him.
"Have you not listened to a word I've said?" he said, emotion clogging his throat. "I'm destructive. I'm the kind of person that people warn their kids about—the kind that murders."
I gaped at him, feeling my heart sink at the sight of him so upset. "How can you say that?" As I stepped toward him, he took an equal set of steps away from me. "You're not a murderer. You didn't mean to kill a kid, you were protecting yourself from an intruder."
"I ruined someone's family," he mumbled, rubbing his hand across his forehead. "I'm no better than—"
"You are," I interrupted. "What if it was me telling you the same story? What if I'd—I don't know, what if I'd shoved Phil off of me that night and he fell and hit his head or broke his neck and never woke up again? Would you call me a murderer for defending myself?"
Edward looked ready to break into tears. "You don't understand," he said.
My cell phone rang for the third time and I ripped it out of my pocket, growling under my breath, and quickly sent a text to Charlie's cell number.
'I'll call when I'm ready. Just let me sort through some things. And calm down, the both of you. I'm FINE.'
I knew Charlie would have no clue how to text back and I was pretty sure that Renée wasn't familiar with using Charlie's bulky, old-school style phone. That would keep them busy for a few minutes.
I turned back to Edward, who was bracing himself against the wall, combing through his hair with his hands, seeming more unsettled than when I'd first entered. I stepped closer to him, timidly stuffing my cell phone back in my pocket.
"Sorry," I mumbled, unable to help feeling contrite. Charlie probably had Renée in a frenzy, thinking that I was going to be axed to pieces by some serial killer. "Charlie's overprotective. He always—"
"He should be," Edward interjected. "I don't blame him. It will be easier if we just say goodnight and be done with this."
Be done with this? The ache in my chest deepened. "Where are you going to go? Home?" My voice sounded raw and feeble—it was embarrassing.
He shook his head. "Definitely not. No one wants me there."
I raised my eyebrows at his words, and even he looked surprised that he had spoken such a thing. He looked away and took a shaky breath before sitting in the armchair that was against the wall. He rubbed his eyes and his head, looking so exhausted that I wasn't sure if he was going to be able to get back up.
"So, that's why you left?" I asked, fighting the urge to reach out and hold him. "It was too hard to stay?"
He continued to knead his forehead with his hand, hiding his expression from me. A question gnawed at me and I bit my lip, debating on whether or not I should even cross into that kind of territory, but the curiosity was slowly burning through me.
"Was it your parents?" I tried again, speaking quietly. "Did they not support you?"
His reaction was the last thing I expected. He broke into a humorless laugh that was laced with disparagement. He shook his head, still chuckling darkly, as if I had told him a disgusting joke. "No."
I imagined the emotional fallout that might come from such a situation, and while I couldn't fathom the guilt that was plaguing him, I knew that if it had been me, I would have been distraught. As for Renée and Charlie, no matter what I had done—accident or not—I knew I would have them standing behind me as the most powerful, loving kind of backup. They would be upset, of course, but they would never leave me to fend for myself.
A wave of remorse washed over me as I contemplated my previous, selfish thoughts of feeling alone just because I was without some cookie-cutter relationship. I had my friends back home and I had my family. I even had Angela, now, who I was sure would come to be a great friend as time passed. But looking at Edward, I realized that his eyes had bled so many emotions in the short time that we'd known one another, and I thought I'd distinguished them all—but the one sentiment I'd missed was his loneliness. He was the one who had been abandoned.
He had put his head back into his hands and it was sorriest sight I'd seen him in. My reserve broke and I stepped up to him and pulled his hands away from his face, trying to raise his chin so that I could see him. I brushed his hair from his forehead, holding his cheek in my hand as I tried to think of a way to comfort him, but before I could do anything else, he raised his arms and took my wrists, pushing me away with shaking hands.
"Stop," he said in a thick voice, attempting to sound harsh.
"Edward, please," I said, trying to persuade him to look up. He kept his hands closed around my wrist in a loose grip—a feeble attempt to keep me at a distance, yet not letting go, either.
"You need to leave," he rasped, nearly choking on his words. "Go, please."
How could he possibly expect me to leave him alone after all that he had said? "I can't just leave—"
"Get out, Bella! Now!" he yelled acidly, startling me enough to yank my hands back. "How can you still stand here after what I just told you? Because you like my face? My voice? What?"
His cutting tone was enough to nearly knock the breath out of me. I felt my face heat rapidly, blood coursing through my cheeks in a brazen flow. He looked at me for a moment before shaking his head with a foul expression; I wanted to tear my eyes away from him, but I couldn't.
"You're no better than the rest of them," he muttered, staring back at the floor. "So, get out."
I couldn't even think straight after hearing that. I felt shameful tears sting my eyes as I turned and swiftly made for his door. As I retreated to the hallway, I closed his door behind me and took a short breath before going to my room. I refrained from slamming my door and went straight to the bathroom to grab some tissues to wipe my face with, as the tears had already started to fall down my cheeks.
I was 'no better than the rest of them?' Like Jessica? Like Lauren? Like any other female with a pulse who had thrown themselves at him? That hurt the worst. I didn't understand. Less than twenty-four hours ago, he'd told me that I was nothing like anyone he'd ever met, like I was special. What had I done differently between then and now?
"Stupid," I muttered to myself, wiping my eyes fiercely. This kind of grief about someone who I wasn't even romantically involved with was a mortifying surprise. I'd just sat and listened to him confess one of his darkest secrets and remained nothing but sympathetic and nonjudgmental; I'd been trying to understand him, not get into his pants.
Yes, I was attracted to him, but he had called me beautiful more than once, and given me enough hints that he was on the same page. And during our entire conversation a few minutes ago, I hadn't had any thoughts of lust or infatuation, only pure concern and a desire to erase the pain he was in by listening and consoling. He had no right to say that my intentions were anything but real.
Hastily throwing the tissues in the bathroom wastebasket, I stalked back into my bedroom. I grabbed my hoodie and pulled it on with rough movements, feeling livid, and opened my door.
To hell with decency. I was pissed. And I promptly pulled the door shut with a fierce slam, not even caring if he heard me. He could leave if he wanted to, but I'd be damned if I was going to be there to watch.
As I reached the stairs, I gave his door one last look, hoping he hadn't beaten me to it, before starting down to the lobby.
Once my feet hit the lavish carpet of the first floor, I hurried to the front door, pushing it open and causing the bell to clink madly, echoing my frustration. As the door slowly closed behind me, one more little soft chime sounded as the bell stilled. Tears prickled in my eyes again; that one tiny, despondent note reminded me of that one forgotten emotion: regret.
-:-
