-:-
The wind was teasing me with blasts and bursts of fresh and cold, soft and surging, and the constant ebb and flow was unsettling. Nothing seemed to stay stable for long, not even the clouds. They were shifting and changing shape so fast, and before I could seek out any recognizable figures, they had transformed. Just as I thought I could make out the shape of a heart, it nearly tore itself in half, mutating and twisting into a long, jagged 'S,' reminiscent of a snake. I diverted my eyes from the sky and focused on the ground, where there was nothing but rocks, pebbles, and gravelly powder. I fumbled my fingers in a cyclical trance, knowing that soon enough, the semi-stillness surrounding me was going to change as quickly as the sky.
Metaphorically, that is, because I was Ms. Fix-It, with my brilliantly stupid idea.
I was nearly on the verge of having a panic attack of my own. Deep breathing was the only thing keeping me from jumping into my driver's seat and flooring it out of the parking lot, as much as I told myself this was the right thing to do. As I sat on the back of my truck, I swung my legs back and forth, repeatedly banging my heels against the tailgate and shivering from the unpleasantly cold wind. I half-contemplated going back to my room to dig in my suitcase for the coat that I had brought with me—Charlie had insisted that I take it "just in case." I was stuck wearing my sweater hoodie again, as I had apparently misplaced my black one, which was decidedly much warmer; this sweater's knitted material wasn't exactly great at blocking the wind.
For the umpteenth occasion, I pulled my phone out of my pocket to steal a look at the time. It was after two o'clock in the afternoon.
I'd been awake for longer than twenty-four hours and I was starting to worry that I might fall asleep sitting up—or slip into hypothermia, according to the dramatic part of my brain. Thoughts of my bed and its warm, feathery comforter were tempting, but if I was really going to do this, then I had to stay put. Either that or just hide and not come out for a week. While I had no precise idea how Edward would react to what I had done, I figured his reaction would range from annoyed to furious, or maybe even frantic. With my luck, he'd be all three.
I stuffed my hands in my pockets and blew out my breath in a steady stream, looking straight up in the air until I felt blood rush to the back of my head. The clouds were still swirling with an intoxicating migration, and I slightly teetered on the edge of where I was sitting, starting to feel a little dizzy after watching them for a minute. Gently righting myself, I pulled my head forward again and almost screamed.
Before I lost my balance and fell backwards, two warm, strong hands gripped mine, keeping me from landing inside the bed of the truck, flat on my back.
As I'd lowered my gaze from the sky to the space in front of me, I had found that Edward was standing a few feet away with disheveled hair and weary eyes, but God, had he scared the hell out of me.
"Jesus," I breathed, catching my breath and tightening my legs on the truck's frame to gain my stability again. "Do you always sneak up on people like that or am I just your favorite victim?"
As expected, I didn't receive a smile from him. He simply gave my hands a small squeeze and said, "I'm sorry. I was afraid I'd startle you if I spoke."
For a few seconds, I wasn't sure what to say, and knew I only had limited time before he probably would be less enthused about my well-being. So I did the only thing I could think of. I circled my legs behind his back and used my heels to draw him forward, pulling his head against my chest as soon as my hands could reach him. I gently ran my fingers through his hair and leaned down to press my face against his head, sighing quietly. His hair smelled like soap and spice, an intoxicating manly nectar. Even Burberry couldn't hope to bottle such an enticing scent.
My heart's beats were bittersweet as I felt his hands on my back, and little pangs of desperation and worry mixed with warmth and affection began to build inside my stomach, slowly rising to my chest as I realized that he wasn't pulling away, but leaning in. I held him for a few more moments before reluctantly loosening my grasp. I tilted his head back and kissed him, taking a few moments to memorize how my lips felt against his, knowing it could very well be the last time I would get to do this. After I pulled back, little by little, his eyes opened. Blinking, he gazed up at me with a mixture of tenderness and curiosity.
"What was that for?" he asked softly.
"I just wanted to," I said honestly, though I omitted that it was also an unspoken apology. His hair was thick and soft under my fingers and I had to force myself to let him go. I expected him to sigh, or to see his eyes stray to find something else on which to focus, but instead his brow creased. He was scrutinizing my expression; I knew the anxiety that was spinning throughout my entire body had to be showing on my face as well.
"You didn't sleep?" he asked me, reaching up to trace the skin under my eye with his thumb. I wondered if I appeared as weary as the bowed shadows that rested beneath his lower lashes.
I shook my head. "I couldn't."
Edward placed his hands on my legs. "Oh, Bella," he mumbled, lowering his gaze to the same rocky ground I'd been staring at for the past couple of hours. When he glanced back up, his eyes were heavy with apologies. "I'm so sorry. What I put you through last night… no one should have had to deal with that, except me."
"I chose to stay with you last night," I said. "You didn't force me to. And you have nothing to be sorry for, so don't say it. This whole thing is unfair—for you especially."
His hands slid from the tops of my knees to the outside of my thighs. "I appreciate that. But I'm still sorry."
I let my head fall back a bit and I stared into the clouds again, wishing that they had the power to lift both of us up and encapsulate us in their misty blanket, making us forget that the real world existed.
"So, what are you doing? Getting ready to leave?" I asked in a monotone voice before lowering my gaze to his.
"I didn't want to go before talking to you," he said, and I was very aware that his hands were still on me, slowly moving up to my waist. "I kept thinking about everything—the way it all must seem from your end. I half-expected you would already be gone."
He absolutely had no idea how close I'd come to pulling a Bonnie-minus-Clyde numerous times in the past hour.
I cleared my throat and put my hands in my lap. I really didn't know how I was going to confess this. "You look pretty tired, too. Did you get any sleep?"
Edward let go of my sides to take my unsteady hands in his. "A little," he answered. I was too nervous to look into his eyes anymore, but I could only imagine that he was wondering what the hell was wrong with me. "Bella, I know you're probably sick to death of talking about this, but—"
"I did something," I blurted out.
I couldn't stop staring at his hands on mine, and I tried to burn the image into my memory, wanting to soak up all I could. He didn't move, but his fingers squeezed mine the slightest bit, and my heart started to accelerate.
"What do you mean?" he asked, his voice sounding peculiarly concerned.
Inhaling shakily, I pulled my hands from underneath his and ran them through my hair. I briefly wondered if this was what he experienced before a panic attack: a racing heart, churning stomach, spinning equilibrium—how ironic it would be if he made a move to calm me down, especially now.
"I, um…" I bit the inside of my lip, taking a few moments to think before looking up at him. "You know, I wanted to tell someone what you told me. I even thought about calling Charlie."
Edward's eyes lowered, a conflicted expression crossing his face, but he raised his eyes again to hear if I had done so.
"I didn't," I said quickly, taking a deep breath. "I can't tell you how close I came. And if I wasn't so afraid of what would happen to you afterward, I might have."
I wasn't lying. I had considered it, but the thought of him having to undergo anymore police interference made me feel sick, and since I had a cop for a father, I knew that law enforcement didn't mess around with conspiracy to murder of any kind, no matter how justified it might seem. Plus, it would be my statement that would land him in trouble, or jail, and I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if I carried around that responsibility.
"I thought about begging you again to change your mind, too," I continued, wringing my sweaty hands together. "But I figured if it didn't work the first time, you're not going to listen when you're so dead-set on finishing this. And I guessed it would be hopeless to suggest that I come with you."
I could tell by his eyes that both of those ideas would have been ineffective, though I truthfully wished I would have seen some sort of hesitation from him. In all honesty, I'd been ready to pull a sit-in in the backseat of his car, refusing to get out, taking the route of the whole 'Sugar, we're goin' down swinging—together' trick... but that was moronic and way too Hollywood-esque to ever come close to working out. I even thought that maybe I could play 'Midnight Hussy' and fuck some sense into him, too, but I wasn't about to mention that.
Edward placed his hands to rest on my knees again, and he took a breath. "So if you aren't going to do any of those things, what did you already do?"
My hand started to move to my mouth, but he caught it before I could begin gnawing away at my thumbnail. "Bella?" he questioned, studying me with a cautious expression.
"I took your gun."
It took him a few moments to react; first, his eyebrows furrowed as he narrowed his eyes to his car, then he stared back at me, appearing somewhat incredulous. He half-laughed, a sound without humor, then his hands slid away from me completely and fell limply at his sides. I don't think he believed me for a few more seconds, and as he studied my face, his expression grew grim.
"You took my gun?" he repeated. "You—broke into my car?"
I shook my head, feeling my cheeks flush. "No. I used the spare key under your passenger door. You showed me, remember?"
Originally, when I'd gone outside earlier that morning, I wasn't sure if he had replaced it or not; I didn't remember him doing so after we had talked in his car, and when I fumbled under the Volvo's frame to check, I'd found the little box easily, and luckily, the duplicate key was magnetized inside. I'd stared at it in my hands for a long time, deliberating the pros and cons of my decision before opening the door and taking the black case out of the glove box.
In principle, I hadn't actually been breaking and entering, just entering. Without permission. And stealing. Well, gun-napping.
Edward took a small step back. His eyebrows gathered and he stared at me strangely, making my heart beat even faster; although, it wasn't the proverbial, passionate pulse-quickening I was used to. My body wasn't on overdrive because of excitement this time—I was kind of frightened of the way he was looking at me now.
I watched his throat move, thinking he was probably swallowing a few choice phrases that he'd like to spit out at me. I swallowed, too, thinking that if I'd actually eaten or had anything to drink in the past few hours, it might have made an appearance by now.
"Where is it?" he asked hoarsely, burning me with little, emerald flames in his eyes that flickered with vexation.
I tightened my arms around myself again as the wind blew harder, intensifying the adverse friction that was suddenly between us. I was feeling colder by the second. "I'm not saying. And I'm not letting you do this. Or go anywhere."
Edward flexed his fingers and tightly grasped the tailgate, closing his eyes as he inhaled a quick breath. "You can't just take something and make this all go away. You don't—"
His voice caught in his throat and he took another deep breath, appearing paler than usual, and angry. He had a right to be, as I'd just stolen from him was now making demands.
"I—"
"This is not your fight," he interrupted, glaring fiercely. "It's mine."
"It doesn't have to be," I said urgently. Edward pushed himself away from the truck and started walking toward his car. Half-afraid that he might just take off without much of a warning, I jumped down from the ledge and followed him.
When he reached his car, he suddenly spun around, halting me in my tracks, and quickly asked, "Did you throw it away?"
"N-no," I answered, silently scolding myself for being unable to keep the unease out of my voice.
He turned back to his car, running his hands through his hair, no doubt wondering where the hell I would think to hide it. I stepped closer to him, reaching to grab his arm.
"Don't think about what was in there—look at me," I pressed, pulling him so that we were facing. I knew I had no right to tell him what to do, but I was past politeness. "Take a minute and don't think about that. Think about yourself."
"I could buy a new one, you know," he continued, not humoring my insistence.
I took a breath. "No, I don't think you will."
"And what makes you think that?"
The anger in his voice was gut-wrenching, but I held my ground and spoke my answer carefully. "Because something tells me that it was your father's gun. And I don't think you'd want to use anything else to finish off whoever it was that killed him and your mother."
I waited. He didn't deny it.
I had never seen him look so frustrated; his eyes were shining and squinted, and he was biting the inside of his cheek. Also, his chest was rising and falling pretty quickly, swelling with aggravated breaths. "I should never have said anything to you," he spat, pushing my hands away from him. "I should have kept my goddamned mouth shut."
Honestly, I expected this. It still hurt, but I understood where he was coming from.
I watched him pull his keys out of his pocket, turn to his car, and open the passenger door. I figured he was checking to see if I really had taken the gun, and I faced the opposite direction; there was no need to watch him rummage. I heard him shuffling around in the glove box and probably elsewhere, and after awhile, a loud slam of the car door made me cringe.
When I got the nerve to look at him, I found him leaning against the window, hands empty, as I knew they would be. His eyes were downcast, but I assumed that he was somewhere between seething and conspiring. I glanced at my truck, tempted to flee for a while, but I was too nervous he'd end up leaving anyway. After a few moments, I turned around to try to reason with him, but he moved so quickly that I barely had a chance to react.
"You need to give it back," he said, walking up to me. "Now, Bella. I'm serious."
My breath was stuck in my throat as I shook my head, and Edward sighed shortly before getting even closer.
"It wasn't yours to take," he said relatively calmly, though sounding like he was holding back from shouting at me.
"Well," I said, taking another step forward until we were an arms-length away, "someone else's life isn't yours to take, either."
He swallowed, pushing his hands through his hair. "I'm already damned for doing it once."
"That wasn't your fault," I argued in a harsh tone. "You know, you need to stop blaming yourself for—"
"How could you possibly know what I need to do?" he practically hissed, leaning down so only I could hear him. It didn't matter; no one else was in the parking lot, anyway. "You think stealing from me is what's best here? None of this is going to go away, Bella—none of it! I have absolutely no idea why you insist on wasting your time!"
Even though he was fuming, I started to relax a little. I was finally getting a glimpse of what I'd been searching for—the smallest bit of qualm on his part. He was still angry, but he was slightly faltering, and I was strangely, yet dynamically drawn to him in that moment. I could feel every bit of zealous heat, fierce tension, and bizarre desire between us. Forgetting my worries, I grasped his arms and tried to will some of the compassion I felt into him. "Because I don't want you to become the killer that you think is inside of you."
Silence hung heavy in the air like a steel fog. I stood on my toes and pressed my forehead against his stubbled jaw and clung to the back of his neck. He shivered slightly.
"Please don't be angry with me," I pleaded, hardly audible over the wind. "I just don't want to see you drive yourself into a nightmare."
I felt him touch my shoulders again, and for a short moment, I thought he was going to push me away. To my surprise, he squeezed them gently, and bit by bit, his hands traveled up and down my arms, around my back, and up into my hair. I could hear small, strained sounds coming from his throat, but he didn't speak—so I did instead.
"You said you never got the help you needed," I said, pulling back a bit so I could look at him. He looked drained, eyes dense with misery. "So, please—please let me prove to you that you can get through this without doing something extreme. Let me help you. Let me show you. Let me love y—"
And suddenly, all of my oxygen cut off like my lungs had been plugged. I stepped backward, right up against a neighboring minivan and looked away, but not in time to miss his expression go from distressed to stunned.
I wondered what was worse—pilfering a weapon out of his glove compartment or almost uttering the 'L' word out of nowhere.
"I didn't mean that," I said quickly, feeling my cheeks turn scarlet.
He kept staring, seemingly frozen. Eventually, he cleared his throat and said huskily, "Which part?"
"S-sorry," I stammered, and for a moment I couldn't even form a thought. "I'm not—I just—just think about it, Edward. If you still want to go and do this when I come back, I'll give you back the gun. I promise."
He raised his eyebrows, looking unbearably confused. "Where are you going?"
"I don't know," I said, thanking God that I had left my truck unlocked and had already placed my purse in the passenger seat. "But there are different ways to deal with this. And I know you don't believe what I say, but if you can think of even one reason why you should give yourself a better opportunity, then maybe there's a chance."
I turned around, briskly walked back to my truck, and hefted myself up into the driver's seat. I had no clue where I was going. It wasn't like I really knew a place that would provide me some sort of refuge, and the lodge wasn't exactly my first choice at the moment.
As I drove past Edward, I saw that he was leaning against his car—an embodiment of pain, misplacement, and bewilderment, all packed into one body. I rubbed my eyes and sighed, wondering if my last-ditch effort had been worth it, or if I had only succeeded in wrecking everything further.
-:-
After circling the entire Forks' area about three times, the sky opened up and poured down a watery havoc, blinding me from driving past twenty-five miles per hour. I saw a window of opportunity as I neared some sort of store and pulled into the parking lot, not caring where I was. I sat in my car for a good while until I realized that my truck was running on a near-empty tank, and it was too cold to sit inside without the engine running.
Freeze or get wet and seek refuge in… Newton's Outfitters. My windshield wipers barely flushed away enough of the rain for me to read the name, but I could make out a florescent-lit soccer ball and another neon sign that read "Best Sporting Goods in all of Forks County!" Wonderful. A sports store. Of all places to end up, it had to be someplace filled with gadgets about which I had no knowledge or use for. Of course it couldn't have been a library or bookstore, or even a nice, safe Hallmark.
After listening to the rain pound for another minute and feeling the cabin of my truck already begin to grow chilly, I grabbed my purse, jumped out of the seat, slammed the door, and booked it to the store's entrance.
Only ten or fifteen seconds had passed, but my hair and sweater were already half-drenched. An older woman behind a cash register gave me a smile as I entered the store, probably out of sympathy, considering the fact that I was suggestive of a drowning victim. I wiped my feet, feeling guilty that I was going to be dripping all over the floor.
"Uh, do you have a restroom?" I asked the woman.
She pointed toward the right side of the store, still smiling politely. "Near the back, honey. Go past the tent display and it's right down the hallway. Ladies' room is just to the right."
"Thanks," I said, and walked carefully past a Caution: Wet Floor sign that was propped up by a rack of Under Armour pants, thinking that I had a good chance of publicly performing my infamous Swan Slip-N-Slide if I wasn't careful. I passed a couple, who were arguing over getting a tent that slept four people as opposed to two, and rounded into the hallway with a tacky, worn sign that read "This Way to the Locker Rooms!"
I flipped my wet hair over my shoulder, hoping that the bathroom had one of those hand dryers that I could stand under for a while. I walked past the men's room, and just as I approached the next door, I heard a distant sound followed by a muffled voice. The ladies' room had a doorknob, so I figured someone was already in there.
I shifted my weight, shivering a little from being wet, and wondered how long I should wait before going back to the lodge. I figured it had only been a little more than a half an hour—maybe I should wait about two hours more? Three, at the latest? It wasn't like there as a handbook written on how much time to give someone to think about 'To seek, or not to seek vengeance.'
"Get against the—yeah—put your leg up."
"I'm trying."
I narrowed my eyes. Um, what?
The voices were coming from behind the door and I instantly tensed. A guy was in there and this was the women's bathroom.
"Jesus, ouch. The clip on your skirt's pinching my balls, baby. Can't you just take that damn thing off?"
My mouth dropped and I backed into the wall. For God's sake, why?! Why was I cursed with being accidentally drawn to secret fornication frenzies in strange places?! I quickly turned, no longer caring about my appearance. At that point, I could have been covered in mud and I still wouldn't have banged on that door to interrupt the that shit.
Sprinting out of the confines of the hallway and back into the store, I nearly ran into one of the tents that was on exhibit. I kept walking until I was in front of a bunch of fishing equipment, and then had to remain moving as my mind was in the gutter, and the display of ultra-powered rods was not helping me forget what had been going on in the bathroom.
I lost track of time and eventually began to dry off as I aimlessly wandered around, passing camping equipment, lacrosse sticks, and other random sporting goods that I would probably never touch. I was blankly staring at a shelf full of hockey pucks when I heard footsteps behind me.
"Can I help you, miss?"
Oh fuck. I knew that voice. I turned around to find Mr. Bathroom Balls standing next to me with a rehearsed salesman's look on his face.
I tried not to seem obviously uncomfortable when I said, "Thanks, I'm just looking."
He grinned widely and stepped toward me anyway. "You're not from around here, are you? I think I know almost every face that sets foot in here."
I'll bet you know more than just faces.
"Oh, no," I answered quickly. "I'm not from here. Just visiting. My dad used to live up here, so—"
The guy's eyes widened in recognition and I prepared myself for the probable slew of questions about my father. "Oh, you're Isabella!"
I felt like a damn celebrity. "Well, I go by—sure, yeah, that's me."
No use in letting the Sports Store Man-Whore call me by my preferred name.
"So, Chief Swan's daughter, huh?" Without offering, he reached for my hand and shook it, and my arm moved choppily as I was forced to accept his handshake, all the while wondering if he had washed his hands after the bathroom. "Wow," he continued. "You certainly are prettier than your dad."
I furrowed my eyebrows. "Um… thanks." Jackass.
He continued to smile at me, probably trying to be charming, as if he hadn't just been screwing some other girl in the back room. Or maybe he was just proud of himself and thought he'd celebrate by checking me out. He was acting quite debonair for a player—all those dashing flair buttons, and plastic, probably sticky name tag—oh. Oh, my God.
His name tag read 'Mike.'
Newton's Outfitters. Mike Newton. Jessica's ex boyfriend. Fourth floor Mike.
My mouth dropped and I inadvertently stepped backward, tipping over a stack of tubes containing tennis balls.
"Whoa," he said, gripping my hand tighter and tugging me away from the tumbling mess before I could pull away in repulsion. His smile was as big as his ego. "I've got a clumsy one on my hands."
And I had a cock-monster on my hands.
I pulled my hand out of his grasp and discreetly wiped it on my jeans as he continued smirking, acting surprisingly friendly. "S-sorry," I stammered, and immediately started picking up the avalanche I'd caused.
"Oh, don't worry," said Mike, stooping down beside me and re-stacking the tubes. "It happens a lot, sweetie."
Sweetie? Ew.
I refrained from bolting and continued to help pick up the mess as Mike rambled on about random nonsense while I nodded politely—how once he had talked Charlie out of a speeding ticket; how he had unloaded a truckload of treadmills all by himself the previous evening; how he was in need of a massage because of all the heavy lifting.
"So, have you ever knocked around a couple balls?"
I nearly choked on my own saliva. I raised my head to incredulously stare at him and realized he was holding up the last tube of tennis balls. Then he actually winked and I quickly got to my feet, cursing my blood vessels as I felt my cheeks flush. He smirked, probably thinking that I actually liked the suggestiveness behind his words. Honestly, I was thinking that I was half a step away from finding a tennis racquet and knocking around his balls until they sported a waffle-print.
"Um, no," I answered, stepping away from the display before I accidentally knocked it over again. "I'm more of a football girl."
Mike raised his eyebrows, smiling. "Tackling?"
I bit my tongue before I could tell him to fuck off. But then I froze, because, of all people, Jessica Stanley rounded the corner. As shocked as I was to see her, I had never been so relieved at her arrival. She gave me a surprised, haughty glare, and scoffed audibly. I couldn't even find it in me to scowl in return or just walk away, because she was wearing a red, plaid skirt. I hadn't recognized her whiny voice in the bathroom at first, but now it was playing clearly in my mind.
Gross. Who hadn't been with this guy?
"Well, Bella, you're just everywhere, aren't you?" Jessica said in mock sweetness.
Not as much as you, you little skirt dropper.
She stepped up to Mike's side and slid her hands around one of his arms. Her expression was screaming for me to back off, but I snickered carelessly, deciding Jessica's presence was my window of opportunity to get away.
"Nice meeting you, Mike," I said, pointing to his nametag. "See you later, Jessica." Unfortunately.
Mike looked between both of us in confusion, probably wondering how the hell we knew each other. Jessica just crinkled her nose and gave me an odd smirk.
"Hope you enjoy your day, Bella," she said, her voice like tainted honey.
"Hope you enjoy the gynecologist," I retorted, then raised my eyebrows at Mike. I knew he'd been on medication, but who knew how long it took for… improvements. They both gave me a strange look, but I hurried away before they could say anything else.
Since it hadn't stopped pouring, I crossed to the opposite side of the store before leaving, and took advantage of a bottle of hand sanitizer sitting at an empty cash register. I really wanted to try the bathroom again to check for a hand dryer for my sweater, but was too afraid of catching VD or whatever else might be lingering in there—not to mention it probably wouldn't matter if it was still raining when I left. I finally slumped into a fold-out chair that was on display (with all four of its cup holders) and sighed heavily.
This day had ended up in the craziest way I could have imagined. If it wasn't for that goddamn phone call Edward had gotten, we could have both been wrapped up in bliss and calm, cozied up by the warm fireplace or out with Ben and Angela again. I just wished he hadn't had to deal with so much pain again when he had finally started to seem a bit better—healthier, really. And now he was leaving, and I would never get another chance to see his eyes light up or hear him laugh, or probably even smile.
If by some miracle he did decide to stay, things weren't going to go easy. I honestly had no clue what I'd do—so much for thinking things through methodically. I had just been trying to stop him from going; figuring out what to do if he stayed would be something entirely different to plan.
Well, no use in jumping the gun until I knew for certain.
Gun.
I burst into ironic laughter and a guy who had been sorting through ski pants gave me a strange look. When he walked away, I pressed the palms of my hands against my eyes and rubbed until little flashing lights spread, blinding me. I blinked a few times and my vision slowly went from clouded to clear, and I wondered how much more time had passed. As I started to reach into my purse for my phone, I finally noticed what the rack in front of me held. After staring for a good amount of time, debating, I stood up and decided maybe there was something I could buy here after all.
-:-
I scurried like a madwoman back to my truck with my purchase tucked tightly under my arm, because bless it be to the skies above, the rain had finally stopped—and for all I knew, the rain was only taking ten second break; the sky was still stewing with grayish, patchy clouds. I drove back to the lodge and slowly steered up the windy, gravel road into the parking lot. I took a shaky breath as I spotted Edward sitting against the large, stone wall, adjacent to his car, his head resting on his fist.
Maybe if I ran over his foot, he'd be incapacitated and wouldn't be able to go anywhere. Or my Chevy could play Monster Truck and tap dance all over that Volvo. Then again, there were always rental cars. I should have stolen his wallet, too.
When he noticed my truck, I nervously looked away and pulled into an empty space two slots over from his car. As I turned off my car, the engine and my body switched states; it fell silent as my system jumpstarted—palms sweating, heart hammering against my sternum. My legs felt frozen and I found myself staring blankly out the windshield, as though some magical fix-all solution might suddenly pop out of nowhere.
None came.
I slid out of my truck, landing steadily on my feet. Edward was already standing, but he hadn't moved away from the wall. His eyes didn't meet mine as I hesitantly walked toward him, and instead of stopping in front of him, I ended up leaning next to him, the craggy stones cold against my back. I looked at him but he didn't turn toward me, so I mirrored his stance and folded my arms across my chest, keeping my gaze secured firmly on the ground. Eventually, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him grant a momentary glimpse at me, but turned as soon as I made a move to look at him again.
Well, this was awkward.
I drew in a slow, quiet breath and turned to him, though I also took a step back, prepared to book it inside in case the tears came early. But before I could say anything, he took my hands and tugged me closer, and I stared up at him. His eyes immediately took me in with an intensity—they usually did, no matter what emotion crossed his expression—but there was something about the way they looked that I couldn't place.
"For a while, I thought you might not come back," he finally said, his voice husky.
I swallowed, squeezing his hands gently since they were freezing. "Well, I'd be lying if I said that thought didn't cross my mind. Out of nerves, not because I didn't want to. But I promised. Though I was hoping if I waited long enough, it might..."
My mouth suddenly stopped working. Very slowly, almost painfully so, I pulled my hands out of his. It had just clicked what the look in his eyes was. His eyes were my eyes from the past two years. They were like stone—set—blank to the world, because he felt so disparaged and had nothing left to let gleam. He had given up.
He watched me, waiting for me to continue, but I couldn't think straight. Had I really been so naïve as to think that I could change his mind—just me, by myself? I had. For some odd reason, I had believed it. And even with his unspoken decision staring me right in the face, I still wanted to believe. That was the most embarrassing part.
"Bella?"
I pressed my back against the wall again, needing some support., and stared straight ahead. "It's okay. I know what you're going to say."
He stepped in front of me so I had nowhere else to look but at him. "I don't think you do, though."
I stared at him, daring him to prove me wrong. The wind was picking up again and I felt goose bumps rise on my skin. Edward was only in a t-shirt, and I could see that his skin was mirroring mine.
"You're leaving," I said softly.
Edward blew his breath out and closed his eyes for a moment, rubbing his forehead. "Yes," he confirmed gently. "Whether you give me back the gun or not… yes."
I narrowed my eyes, hating the slow build of the pain that I knew would just grow worse as we talked. "Tell me what I don't know, then," I said, hoping to hold back my tears for at least a few more minutes.
"My decision has nothing to do with what you did, I swear," he said, sounding sad. "I'm not angry. I was, but more with myself than with you."
"You should be mad," I said, feeling defeated. "I betrayed your trust. I was just—I guess it doesn't matter. I certainly didn't help or do anything—"
"Didn't do anything?" he interrupted.
If he would have let me finish, he would have heard me say anything good, but maybe he just wanted to rake me over the coals about how much I succeeded in screwing up his schedule, or whatever. I was surprised when I felt him touch my cheek and lift my chin, so I would look at him.
"Bella, you offered me you."
I creased my eyebrows, thinking back to our earlier conversation. I had done that, hadn't I? Pretty brainless of me; how could I help someone so broken when I couldn't even help myself? And a lot of good my earlier endeavors had done. They hadn't changed anything.
"Will you stop it?" he said, breaking me out of my daze. I stared at him, wondering what I had done now. "I can see it in your eyes," he continued. "You're thinking that you made everything worse."
"Didn't I?" I really was confused now.
He sighed and tucked my blowing hair behind my ear. "Well, you've certainly made this decision a lot more taxing. I knew it would be difficult to go, and I really wish I didn't have to do this—"
"Don't do this," I said, unable to keep quiet.
I could slowly feel the cold cutting through my skin and into my chest, where all the warmth I was trying to keep safe was slowly taken over. I grasped his arms and tried to pull him toward me and he put his hands on my shoulders, keeping me at a distance. I didn't care.
"Please," I pleaded, knowing that my eyes were filling quickly. "Don't do this to yourself. Don't go. You can't. I can't let you—"
"If I stay," he said quietly, but deeply, "—if I accept your help, what could I possibly offer you in return? I'm not even a sliver of what you deserve."
"That is not true," I argued in a whisper, pulling him toward me again, but for some reason, he would not let me get any closer to him. My breath was shaky as I looked up at him. "What I deserve is the truth, Edward. You're going to have to say it, or else I'm going to think that you're lying for my benefit. Tell me you honestly believe that whatever this is between us couldn't work—couldn't be something good."
Edward sighed again and cupped my face in his hands, giving me the smallest bit of hope before he reached for my hands and pushed them gently toward my chest. "It couldn't."
My fingers trembled as he let go. It couldn't?
"Not from my end, Bella. I could never be anything good for you," he continued, barely able to look me in the eye. "I wish I could, but I can't be. And I won't be responsible for hurting you anymore. I've accepted it. Now, you need to."
I studied his face, searching for a sign of untruth. I wanted to find the slightest hint of uncertainty—a subtle fold in his cheek, a faint twitch of his mouth—just so I knew that he was, in fact just saying this to protect me instead of telling the truth. The only sentiment I could read on his face was regret. He was sad, but he was done, and my stomach felt shredded as I realized he was ready to tell me goodbye.
I narrowed my eyes, taking a few moments to let the truth sink in.
"Okay," I finally murmured, not allowing myself to cry. "Wait here."
Without waiting for him to answer, I turned and walked to the lodge's door and let myself inside. According to the grandfather clock, it was after six-thirty. The lobby was empty—all of the guests were probably in the dining room, and thankfully no one was in the Entertainment Hall. My footsteps echoed dully throughout the large room as I walked over to the hiding place I'd chosen—the piano—and lifted the lid, scooping up the black case that held Edward's past mistake, present demon, and probable, future fate.
I carried it back outside and carefully held it out to Edward. He took it, then looked at me with heartbroken eyes that I didn't let myself get lost in. "I want to say sorry, but I can't, Edward," I said. "I was just—" Attempting to save him from himself. Caring about his life. "Trying. Just trying to help you."
The last few words I spoke were so hushed, I wasn't even sure if he could hear me. I felt so stupid, and like such a failure that I felt like covering my face and rushing to my room. My eyes were on the ground when I heard Edward mumble something I couldn't make out, but when I looked up, he had turned away and walked toward the passenger door of his car, probably to put the gun inside.
Well, it was now or never.
I went to my truck to retrieve the shopping bag from Newton's Outfitters. My heart pounded as I pushed the creaky door closed again and turned back to Edward, who had shut his door simultaneously. We both took a few steps to meet in the middle again. Gripping the bag and taking a deep breath, I held it out to him.
"I got you something," I said quietly. He blinked, eyeing me and the bag with curiosity. Seconds passed and I raised my eyebrows slightly, holding the bag out further. Eventually, he took it, but stared at me for a while longer before cracking open the bag to peer inside.
And suddenly, I couldn't look at him. I felt embarrassed, as though we were in a relationship and I'd just given him a key to my apartment, and was waiting to see if it had been too extreme of an offering. I heard the paper bag rustle as he pulled out his gift, and after a few seconds, the bag hit the ground with a soft, slow landing.
He was holding it.
"You bought me a coat?" he asked, his voice laced with surprise.
I concentrated on fumbling with my sweater's zipper, feeling my cheeks grow warm. "Well, you don't have one," I replied softly. "And winter's coming, so..."
He remained silent and I glanced up to see his reaction. His eyes were flitting between the coat and my face, his expression one of heartbreaking sadness and guilt, and another emotion I couldn't figure out. It was almost like I'd given him something he didn't know how to handle.
"I sort of guessed at the size," I said, hunching my shoulders at the cold wind. "I hope it fits you. If not, I have the receipt."
It made me anxious when he didn't say a word.
"It's not a bribe for you to stay," I said in a low voice. "I just wanted you to be warm, that's all."
It was the truth. I had scoured the men's section, looking for something that was wind and water-resistant, and lined with thermal padding to provide extra heat, but I figured it would sound ridiculous to just start listing the coat's qualities to him like some sort of salesman. Moreover, I left out the fact that I chose the dark brown color because I thought it would bring out the chestnut highlights in his hair; also, I kept quiet that I had slipped a note into the inside chest pocket just in case he did end up leaving. It was something I'd scrawled quickly before driving back, and was pretty glad I hadn't thought twice about doing so, now.
One of my knuckles cracked loudly as I wrung my hands together too tightly, waiting for him to respond. He looked oddly frozen in place, and just as I started to feel like I should reach to take it back, he finally wrapped the jacket around his shoulders and slid his arms through the sleeves.
He stretched a bit and looked at me, his mouth parted with potential speech. After a very long five seconds, he managed to say, "It fits."
"That's good," I said softly, wondering if he was just being polite and simply hated it. He probably was just ready to get out of here and I was making things awkward. My stomach churned uncomfortably and I kept staring at him, taking the time to burn his image into my memory; soon, it would be all I had. "So, are you leaving right now?"
He nodded, still running his fingers over the fabric. Chills spread through my chest, and I expected my eyes to water and blur my vision, and have all the evidence of my sadness spill over and break my shield, but they didn't. I let out my breath and I stared at him, silently pleading with him to touch me, hold me, or reassure me—anything. But he didn't move or speak, and I knew that one of us had to say it first.
"Well," I said, finally. "I guess… goodbye?"
I saw him visibly swallow before he fixed his gaze on me, his eyes full of misery. My throat ached, unfortunately proving that I wasn't completely anesthetized from the whole matter. I wanted to believe that our eyes were mirroring the same longing—and even though it looked that way from my point of view, he still was frozen in place and didn't reciprocate my words, or offer up any of his own thoughts.
"Okay," I whispered after a considerable amount of time passed in silence.
I clenched my hands firmly into my sleeves, wanting so badly to hug him one more time—just give one more apology, one more plea, one more pretend, soothing feeling of comfort. But I'd already pulled, and he pushed, and it hadn't gotten us anywhere.
"Bye," I managed to say again, then turned and walked steadily, albeit slowly, back to the door. Or maybe the woods. I wasn't really sure where I wanted to go. My head was swimming.
I heard the footsteps behind me, but the sudden grip around my body still startled me. Edward had crossed his arms over my chest and was fiercely hugging me against him, pressing his face into my shoulder. I stopped, but kept a tight grasp on my sweater. I didn't let myself turn around and embrace him back—it was useless.
"I'm sorry," he choked, quietly crying into my hair. "I'm so sorry, Bella."
Oh, don't go. Don't go, don't go, don't go.
"Leaving you—it's killing me."
Then don't leave.
I felt him pull my hair away from my neck and press his lips against it, and felt his tears on my skin—little stings that seeped into me like poison.
"I have to go," he continued huskily. "I know I told you—I mean, I never—I'd never expect you to understand. But I have to leave."
I bit my lip, hard, in fear that I would release every thought through my mouth, but I didn't sense the pain I expected. It was happening again; an icy feeling was spreading through me like rushing water. Edward didn't know it, but I had a protective shield, too. Like a great dose of Novocain, sometimes, and without warning, my mind briefly forgot what it was like to feel.
I clenched and unclenched my fingers from my sweater as his body shook against me as he cried, and I felt confined as he clutched me tighter. My mouth remained stationary, parted, panting little misty puffs into the chilly air. I watched each one form and disappear, and finally I closed my eyes so I didn't have to see everything repeatedly fade to black any more than it already had. Steady darkness was better.
Eventually, Edward loosened his arms and released me from his grasp, yet my lungs still felt constricted, and I wished if it was possible to numb my breathing as well. His trembling hands drew back slowly onto my shoulders and he squeezed gently.
"Take care of yourself, okay?" he whispered, and I felt his hands thread through my hair before he kissed the top of my head. And suddenly, he was gone. No more warmth—only empty air.
I didn't look back.
I listened to his hastened footsteps, the slam of his car door, and the purring start of the engine—I even waited to hear the scrape of the tires against the road, because I didn't want the false impression that he would sit in his car and contemplate things again. Once I was left in silence, I walked to my truck, retrieved my purse, and kept moving.
I just wanted my bed.
I barely heard anything as I hurried through the lobby, and even if someone had called my full name, I probably wouldn't have noticed. My feet carried me without thought; for once, the climb to my room didn't feel strenuous or long, or even high. When I reached my door, I fished in my purse and pulled out my key, but there was something covering the entire doorknob and keyhole, preventing me from inserting it. Something familiar and black. And hot pink.
I stared, blinked, and started to feel my teeth gnashing against my bottom lip as the numbing sedation quickly wore off. I lifted my hoodie—the one I'd been looking for—off the doorknob, holding it by the shoulders so I could read the message that had been newly inscribed, or painted with what looked like nail polish, across the back.
Edward's
Little
Slut
I stared for a long time, anger and misery colliding fiercely in turbulent waves and making me shake madly. It had to have been Jessica. Or Lauren. Or both. Either way, I was insulted and my favorite piece of clothing was ruined, now sporting the name of the man who would haunt my dreams for a long time to come.
My hands were shaking so badly, I dropped my room key twice before jamming it into the lock, and I immediately slammed my door once I was inside, violently throwing my tainted hoodie into the corner, followed by my purse.
"Fuck," I muttered, ripping off my shoes and socks and throwing them in the same direction, too. I hastily stepped out of my jeans, yanked off my sweater, which left me in nothing but a t-shirt and underwear, and I jerked the covers back before collapsing into bed and burying myself beneath the comforter.
Silently, I ordered myself not to cry. I could go and start a fire in Jessica's car and maybe burn down Newton's while I was at it, but right now, I was going to fucking sleep.
I stretched my arms to reach for an extra pillow, but instead of gathering a handful of the bunchy, featheriness I expected, my fingers touched something else entirely. I froze, and suddenly, I did not breathe.
No.
Inhaling deeply, I tried to stop my eyes from starting to prickle. I slowly pulled out the fabric my hand had come into contact with, and I desperately prayed for it to be a part of the white sheet, and not the soft, gray material that I remembered.
It wasn't the sheet. It was Edward's t-shirt.
I'd forgotten that I had put it under my pillow, and apparently, he hadn't remembered to retrieve it, and whoever had changed my sheets had replaced it.
I stared at the inscription, letting 'I Have Promises to Keep and Miles to Go Before I Sleep' burn into my eyes, and only then realized why he might have had a shirt that said something so pivotal. He had promises to keep all along; none of them had anything to do with me.
Eventually, hot blood swirled in my head as tears streamed from my eyes and my breath hitched with choked sobs. I didn't care to stay quiet this time; no one could hear me, and there wasn't anyone on the other side of the wall anymore. This was my floor—no longer our floor.
Pulling Edward's shirt to my chest, I buried myself deeper into the comforter, praying that unconsciousness would come quickly and deliver me another dose of my defense.
-:-
