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The rain had stopped, leaving behind a bitter chill. I stood in the parking lot, my breath showing in the newly cold air in wispy puffs as I panted in irritation. I just wanted to speed off on a road to nowhere and drive until the sun came up.
And then I realized that I had forgotten my keys—and my purse, as they were still sitting up in my room where I'd left them. In my ridiculous hurry, I had forgotten to use my brain.
"Good job, idiot," I muttered.
Well, I wasn't about to trudge my way back upstairs only to run into Edward in the hallway. I looked to my left and right, as if ready to cross a street. Unfortunately for me, daylight was still hours away and it wasn't exactly a smart idea to take a walk in the dark, especially after speaking with Mr. Miller, even if I wasn't planning on heading off into the woods.
With an angry, defeated sigh, I turned around and went back into the lodge, wincing at the little bell's jingle that welcomed me back.
Thanks, you stupid piece of metal. You call yourself an instrument?
Getting pissed at inanimate objects was a cause for worry, so I decided to sit down before I intended on making it a little replica of the Liberty Bell. The café was too bright, even with its dim lighting, and I didn't want to be seen when he came downstairs. Maybe I could hide in the ladies' bathroom… Though, there wasn't really anywhere to sit in there except a toilet, and I wasn't that desperate. I finally settled on a couch that was in a shadowed corner by the fireplace. I sat against the arm and curled my knees to my chest, laying my head against the soft cushion.
I thought back to earlier that morning—the calm before the wretched storm, if I could even say that, since the skies had been quite active. But even so, there had been so many choices, decisions, questions, words, and actions I would have done differently. I could have gone after Edward when I heard him wake in the middle of the night. I could have stayed at the breakfast table. I could have knocked on his door before my nap or before I left to meet Angela. Or I could have hung up with Charlie the second Edward had knocked on my door and turned off my cell phone; not only that, I could have found out why he was knocking. I knew that he wouldn't have visited just to see if I was okay because I was having a conversation after midnight.
Well, there was no use in worrying about it now.
I closed my eyes and breathed slowly, trying to flush out all thoughts of warnings and my parents' frantic phone calls, of Brandon and his clichéd napkin and wandering hands, and of Edward and his nightmares and tragic secrets and beautiful, soulful eyes. And when silence didn't work, I mentally played Metallica in my head, Enter Sandman to be specific, (my go-to stress reliever music). It worked a for a minute before the sharp tune of my subconscious electric guitar suddenly transformed into the melodic, melancholy notes of Ludovico Einaudi's Primavera, one of the songs that had been playing in Edward's car on our way to Port Angeles.
I huffed and grabbed a pillow, pulling it to my chest with a tight squeeze. I supposed that I could let the air out of his tires just to spite him, but with my luck, he had a pump in his trunk. Or that stupid Volvo had secrets of its own and could transform into the fucking Batmobile and grow a helicopter blade.
Suddenly, I heard footsteps far above my head. They were coming quickly, echoing slight thuds. I could only assume the culprit was Edward, and I hoped that between the two of us, we hadn't awakened any of the other guests.
Hell, if he really was in such a hurry, he should have taken me up on my offer of hauling one of his bags downstairs. Though, at that point, I might have just thrown it down the stairs instead. I shrank back into the cushions, pulling my legs closer to my body as if that might make me less visible. I knew I wasn't going to be able to tear my eyes away from watching him walk out the door, but I had no intention of letting him see me.
His figure was shadowed as he came down the stairs, not hesitating for even a second as he reached the foyer. He ran for the door and shoved it open, then disappeared. Again, the bell went wild, then rested with a reverberating peal as the door closed.
And that was that.
I loosened my grip on myself, letting my legs slide away from me and slumping my shoulders. A creeping pain came back to my chest and it slowly spread, like a ripple in still water. I willed my eyes to stop their threatening prickle, but then curiously looked back at the door, having a sudden realization.
He hadn't been carrying bags.
It wasn't like he had to pull his car up to the curb, so I had no idea what he was doing. But I didn't wonder about it for too long, because I realized that this was my opportunity to race back upstairs and lock myself in my room. I could get in the shower and the rushing water and creaking pipes would cover the sound of him leaving. I got up and was about to dash for the stairs when the bell chimed again. I stiffened, watching as Edward slowly walked through the door. I held my breath, backing up in tiptoes like a child might do to remain quiet in a game of hide and seek, and eased myself back down on the dark couch.
He stood quietly for a few moments, glancing around the room and, thankfully, not looking in my direction. But then, he abruptly walked right toward me.
I was frozen to the spot as he sat down in the very same armchair in which I'd been sitting earlier that morning. The chair was turned so that he wasn't facing me, but I remained still. I watched him carefully, listening to him take slow, deep breaths.
He had absolutely no idea that I was there, only ten feet away.
Well, great. Now I was stuck. Hopefully he wasn't planning on pulling an all-nighter before he headed out.
My eyes had grown accustomed to the dark corner and I could see a small holder of coasters on the table next to me. I contemplated chucking one over his head to cause a distraction. If he got up to see what the hell had made a noise, maybe I could creep back upstairs before he realized it. Or maybe I could pay him back and hiss, "Get out," in my Amityville voice just to scare the pants off of him.
I waited, but he didn't move except to tap his fingers along the arm of the chair, or rub his eyes and rest his head on his hand. The longer I watched him, the more awkward I felt. I was sort of spying on him, even if he had intruded on my hiding spot first. Another minute slowly ticked by and he still made no move to get up. I was a bit disappointed that he wasn't talking to himself, even when he thought he was alone; to hear what was going on in his head would have been helpful. But I was growing bored of sitting in this heavy black hole that was absorbing us both into its cheerless abyss.
"Edward, what are you doing?" I finally blurted.
He shot out of his seat at lightning speed, backing into one of the bookcases with a thump. A few books fell off the shelf and landed at his feet and he nearly tripped as he caught his balance on one of the shelves. "Bella?" he called, facing the darkened sitting area. "Where are you?"
I reluctantly reached over the table and felt for a lamp, pulling on its small cord and brightening the area around us. Blinking from the newfound light, I gave him a jaded look. I half expected him to launch into a tirade and demand to know if I was following him, but he simply stared at me, his face full of guilt, and surprisingly, relief as he loudly exhaled.
I turned my head to stare into the empty fireplace, unsure of what to say or how to feel. After a few moments, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him slowly walk over and sit down on the opposite end of the couch on which I was sitting.
"Why are you down here?" he asked quietly after a short period of silence.
"Well apparently, the fourth floor isn't big enough for the both of us. And I left my keys upstairs."
"I…" He sighed and leaned forward a bit, resting his chin on his hands. "I'm sor—"
"Please don't trouble yourself with an apology," I interrupted, curling my arms around my legs again.
I felt too insulted to listen, and if he was only going to leave anyway, I would rather just leave it alone. Edward ran his hands through his hair and straightened, only to lean back on the cushions. We were silent for another minute before I said, "I thought you were leaving."
"I was," he answered softly. "I am."
"Then why are you still here?" I asked without facing him, repeatedly pushing my stubborn hair out of my eyes, which had fallen out of my hairband from all the dramatic running down the stairs I'd done. I ended up pulling the band from my hair altogether, tossing it on the table next to me. "Don't you need your bags to leave? Actually, why are you sitting down here?"
I finally turned to face him. He somehow looked worse than he did earlier at breakfast. The memory caused a pang in my stomach, but I couldn't bring myself to forget how he looked so hostile only ten minutes ago.
"You weren't in your room," he said faintly. "I thought I could stop you. I thought maybe you—"
"Maybe I was sitting in my car and bawling over you?" I asked, ignoring the fact that I had, indeed, cried over him. Hopefully, my eyes weren't giving me away. He didn't answer right away, so I continued, glaring. "Or maybe you thought I liked your face and voice so much because everyone else does, and you're so used to it that you can't tell when someone genuinely cares about you."
He sat still, only moving to clutch a handful of his shirt like a stress ball. "I deserve that," he said thickly.
"And you know, you were right—you should have just left me alone. If you were so hell-bent on not making friends, then why did you waste your time just telling me to stay away from you? Why didn't you stay away from me?"
He put his hands to his forehead and compressed his temples, slowly sucking in his breath. "I don't know," he said in a whisper. "I tried. Every time I was alone, I promised myself that I would keep my distance, or that the next time I saw you would be the last." He shook his head. "Telling you to stay away was a poor attempt on my part. Obviously, it didn't work. You could see through me, and it surprised me."
I tiredly rubbed my eyes, unsure of what to say.
"I usually scare people away. I mean, my appearance alone is enough to make people think twice about coming up to me. I don't sleep much, so I always look like shit. But you treat me differently. You never looked at me with any kind of judgment and you certainly didn't throw yourself at me."
Edward's expression softened as he studied me. "What I said after dinner last night, I meant it. What I just said tonight about you being like everyone else… I was trying to push. I didn't want to drag you further into this. So, I lied."
I played with my hair, determined to stay mad; it hurt less. "So why are you telling me this now? What made you change your mind?"
He cleared his throat, trailing his hand down his shirt to the middle of his chest. "The look on your face when I yelled at you. I didn't expect it to affect me the way it did."
I looked down, realizing that I had unconsciously mirrored his gesture and was now gripping my shirt, right over my sternum. I had a hard time believing that his chest felt full of lead like mine did, but there was a sort of agony in his eyes that I wasn't expecting.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, giving me a repentant look before sighing and leaning back against the cushions once more.
My resentment was failing fruitlessly and the familiar urge to pull him into my arms was growing. I might have, too, if it hadn't been for one little thought that was keeping me grounded.
"But you're still going to get in your car and leave," I countered, feeling nervous that my eyes would betray me and produce unwanted tears. "I don't understand why."
"I would never want you to understand," he said.
I put my arms behind my head in resignation and leaned against the sofa, too. After everything he'd ever said, I shouldn't have been surprised.
"I told your father that I have your best interests at heart," he continued. "And I do. After thinking about it, it would be better if you weren't around me. I'm toxic."
His words hit home. Briefly, I remembered that after everything happened with Phil, I always felt like guilt had a way of creeping up inside me, spreading, unseen, until I felt contaminated. And looking at Edward, I could see that he was paralyzed by it.
"I still can't grasp it," I said, shifting my position so that I was facing him. "There's nothing toxic about what you did. An accident, yes. A loss? Of course. But to label yourself as some kind of murderer—" I shook my head. "It's just not true."
There was still reservation in his eyes and I could see that simply talking wasn't going to get through to him. I scooted myself over until I was sitting right next to him. "Don't go," I said, putting my hand on his arm. "Please, don't leave. I can't—"
Mental shot of tequila, girl.
"I can't lie and pretend that I'm not attracted to you. But it's not only physical. There's no practical way to describe it. When you said that you were leaving—when you pushed me away—" I stopped, giving his arm a squeeze when he lowered his eyes. "I genuinely enjoy our time together. And the thought of you not being here anymore so suddenly just made me sad and a little panicky, is all. And I know it's selfish to ask, but… please, will you stay? For a little longer?"
He stared back at me, remaining silent and solemn, and nothing more.
I eventually withdrew my hand, feeling very much like a child pleading with their mother to get them a toy. "I don't blame you, you know," I said quietly. "What has it been, only four days since we've met? No wonder you're not saying anything."
I'd entered his life by chance, yes, but I probably did some damage myself, no matter what he said. Somehow, in the short amount of time we had spent together, I'd interrupted his quiet life and managed to mix him up with the police, the hospital, put him through an unfair interrogation with Charlie, and I had all but given him a mental breakdown by demanding answers about his troubled past when he clearly was not ready to discuss it. It was a bit surprising that he hadn't left already, to be honest.
"You know, before you told me anything, I used to bounce assumptions around in my mind, trying to figure out who you were," I continued, fixing my eyes on the unlit fireplace. "I thought maybe you were on the run from the government or some paranoid, habitual offender. Even a high-functioning insomniac spy."
He made a slight noise that might have been the bud of a laugh that didn't bloom.
"But you're just sad," I said, pushing myself up from the sofa. My legs felt shaky. "And tired. Tired of me interfering with everything, probably. It's silly, really, to think that I might have been able to be something good in your life."
Edward stood up and grasped my shoulders. His hands were so warm, but goosebumps still prickled over my skin at his touch. "Hey," he said in a weary voice, "how can you think that?"
"Because you're still leaving," I said regrettably. "Aren't you?"
I waited for him to prove me wrong, but his eyes were the clearest of windows, and I had to look closely past his reservation to see it, but it was still there: he'd made up his mind. This was the last time that I was going to see him.
I creased my eyebrows, my eyes stinging. "Well, I…"
'I'll see you later' wasn't true. 'Goodbye' felt so stupid. There was nothing good about it. I finally closed the gap between us and encircled my arms around him, hugging him tightly as shreds of composure peeled away from me, my breath wavering.
"I'll miss you," I said, barely audible, as my lips brushed against his shirt. His sweet fragrance was dizzying and I could feel myself starting to fall apart as he put his arms around me.
I knew I would go to pieces if I let him hold me for too long, and somehow, I managed to pull away. I couldn't look at him.
Backing away from him and turning toward the stairwell was difficult, but my hair thankfully swept into my face and hid my pained expression. I climbed the stairs slowly at first, hoping to hear him call out my name or tell me to wait. But the only sound that came was the grandfather clock, announcing that it was half past one AM.
I finally quickened my steps, feeling the pain branch through my chest like vines. I was barely aware of my steps; thank God the stairs were an easy, one-way trail. Eventually, I reached the fourth floor and breezed past Edward's door to my own, pulling it open and locking it behind me.
I was out of breath. My lungs ached, my eyes burned with unshed tears, and my mouth was pleading for water, probably recognizing the impending dehydration that I was in for. I went into the bathroom and instead of satisfying my thirst, I turned on the shower, twisting the lever to the hot water. I was desperate for noise since I knew Edward would be coming back for his bags, and I couldn't listen to his door close for the final time.
Out of the blue, my phone beeped from inside my pajama pants. I pulled it out and saw that I had a text message. Charlie. 'R U OK?' Charlie would never spell like that—Renée must have figured out his phone.
I knew I had to call them sooner or later. I left the bathroom, shutting the door behind me and grunting under my breath as I dialed Charlie's number. It didn't even get through one full ring.
"Bells?" Charlie was attempting to sound firm, but I could hear the minuscule amount of remorse in his voice. Good.
"I know everything and he's leaving the lodge," I stated plainly, not wasting any time. "If you both fly over here, I swear to God that I'll abandon my truck and fly to Canada. I'm not even kidding."
"Bella Swan, check your tone," Charlie answered. "We were just worried."
"You had no right to grill him like that," I continued. "Is that how you're going to treat everyone I meet?"
"You should know who you're dealing with before—"
"You think you know him because you read his report," I spat. "You have no clue what kind of person he is. He's thoughtful and gentle and kind, only you would never even consider that, even before you read anything about him."
"I'm sorry that I made you upset," said Charlie, "but I won't apologize for looking out for you. You're my daughter and I'm not about to let you—"
"Let me?" I exclaimed. "In case you've forgotten, I am an adult. You lost the privilege of letting me do anything six years ago. And you have no idea about the things that I've gotten myself through by myself."
The last part was uncalled for. I'd chosen to remain silent after what had happened with Phil and never gave either of my parents a reason to suspect that I was holding in a secret. But for the time being, I felt wholly defeated, and this conversation was only adding small shards of regret to all of the stress.
"I need some time alone," I said before Charlie could defend himself. "I'm fine and I don't want you and Mom coming to check on me. Tell her I'll call in a few days, okay?" Silence. I sighed and added a quick, "I love you."
After a few more moments of minor static, Charlie finally heaved a sigh of his own and said, "Love you, too."
For some reason, hearing it back made unexpected tears rise to my eyes and I barely managed to utter a choked goodbye before ending the call. I hastily pulled off my pajamas and opened the bathroom door to be met with a muggy wall of steam. The water had reached a few degrees higher than I wanted, but I got in anyway, letting the surge of water spill over my body, immersing me in its torrent.
I didn't reach for shampoo or soap. I didn't even run my fingers through my hair or tilt my head back to allow the warmth to spread under my neck. Instead, I put one hand on the wall for support and hid my face in the other, squeezing my temples.
"Ten," I whispered aloud. "Nine. Eight."
It was the only method I knew to keep from crying. I only used it when I was on the verge of a complete sob-fest, which was rare. But the feeling was bubbling with pressure, on its way to eruption, and this wasn't working.
"Six," I gasped, beginning to lose control. "Five. Four."
I sucked in another quick breath, praying for poise. "Three… two…"
One.
Time's up.
I slowly sunk to the bottom of the tub, my hand squeaking on the glass door as I sat, beaten by a goddamned countdown. I suddenly wished for the ability to shed my own skin; I felt nothing but tainted and battered from physical and emotional collisions. I let the water run over my face and my cheeks burned, not from the temperature of the shower, but from the non-stop, chaotic roller coaster that I had ridden, plunging me from fire to ice, from day to night.
My sobs reverberated through the bathroom, emotions and memories and repressed pain crashing over me like waves. Even though the lights were bright and a heated stream was rushing over my skin, I felt cold and absorbed by emptiness.
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