-:-
Ben took another sip of his beer and sat back against his chair, shaking his head and grinning. "You hit Jessica Stanley."
I placed my elbows on the decorated tabletop at Peak's, which was complimented with a jack-o-lantern centerpiece, plastic-wrapped waxy fangs adorned with fake blood, and little plastic spider rings. I rested my head on my hands and nodded again; he'd repeated his statement four times tonight and hadn't seemed to tire of it yet.
Angela rolled her eyes. "Okay, Ben—yes. Bella hit Jessica. Can you maybe stop making her relive it?"
"Who wouldn't want to relive that?" he said, smirking at me. "Don't ruin this for me, Ang. It's not every day that the chick who called me Lamey Chaney all through middle school gets smacked down by Bella 'Badass' Swan."
I chuckled, absentmindedly fiddling with the straw in my barely-sipped cocktail. When I arrived at the bar, alcohol didn't have the appeal I'd anticipated. "I'd hardly call myself a badass. I hit her with an open palm."
"Still," Ben said in awe as if he was envisioning a visual masterpiece. "God, I would have given my paycheck to see that."
Angela gave me a quick look, smiling shyly. "Me too, actually," she said before sipping her drink.
I smiled. Slapping that conceited bitch was the ballsiest thing I'd ever done. I was torn between guilt for putting my hands on someone, and also a little bit proud. Sure, it was juvenile, and technically I'd had no right, but damn, had it felt good.
"So, Bella, are you sure you don't want to go to Tyler's Halloween party with us?" Ben asked, nudging my hand.
Even though Doris had placed decorations around the lodge earlier that week in preparation, I'd forgotten that today was Halloween. It wasn't until I'd walked into Peak's to find its patrons dressed up in costume—pirates, doctors, and even a creepy, evil clown—that I realized I was smack in the middle of a holiday.
I looked at Ben and shook my head. "Thanks, but I should probably be responsible and go to bed early. I have to be in Seattle to drop off my truck by nine, and my train leaves around eleven-thirty. Tell Tyler I said hello, though."
"I wish you'd let me wait with you at the train station," Angela piped up. "You'll be sitting there for two hours, probably. Ben and I could drive up with you and make a day trip out of it."
"Nah, you guys should go another day. It's supposed to be down-pouring," I said. "Besides, you guys already sacrificed overtime pay to hang out with me tonight."
"Oh, hush, it's your last night," she said. "Although, I should have just brought you to the hospital with me if you wanted to have some real fun. The half-baked idiots that roll in, all decked out in costume, are priceless. Last year, there was this one guy in a Gumby suit—"
"Aw, come on!" Ben shouted, craning his neck at the college football game that was plastered over every TV in sight. I put my straw between my teeth, unable to help grinning in amusement. "God, they won't stop running the ball up the middle. Throw the damn thing. Are you girls seeing this?"
Angela rubbed his shoulder and gave me a look that was so comical, I laughed and accidentally blew into my straw, sending a blast of bubbles through my drink and a slosh of rum and coke across the table. She and I cracked up while Ben looked back and forth at us, shaking his head.
"Silent chick joke?" he asked, which only made me and Angela laugh more. He sighed. "I'm outnumbered. Here, Bella—" He tossed a pair of fangs at me. "Go back and bite some sense into Edward. Maybe you two can make up and he can join us for New Year's so I won't have to drag Mike Newton to Jacksonville."
Angela elbowed him, probably for bringing up both Edward and Mike, but I laughed, knowing he was kidding.
"What a way to start the New Year—gonorrhea," I said drolly. "Sorry, Ben, but my building doesn't allow animals. Mike will have to wait until I buy a house."
Ben stood up from the table. "I'll miss that wit of yours," he said, reaching for his beer bottle. "Refills, ladies?"
"Sure," said Angela, reaching into her purse for money.
Ben pulled her arm back and kissed her cheek. "I got you, babe," he said with a grin, picking up her glass. Angela smiled, rolling her eyes. "Cheeseball," she said, even though her cheeks flushed pink.
"Bella?" Ben proposed. "Want a Frisky Benjamin to lighten your day? Or maybe some ice to cool off that bitch-slapper?"
"Thanks, but I'm fine," I said, smiling warmly. I'd miss his wit, too.
Once he was at the bar, ordering drinks and engaged in conversation with another sports fan, Angela leaned across the table. "I know you said things didn't go well with Edward," she began, her eyes semi-concerned, "so I won't bug you about what happened today. But did he ever say what he was doing at the hospital last night?"
I stared at her blankly. "Huh?"
"Well, he—" Angela creased her eyebrows, looking hesitant. "He didn't say anything about it?"
Shaking my head, I said, "You saw him at the hospital?"
"I didn't mention it to you because I was sure I was wrong and I didn't want to worry you over nothing," she answered thoughtfully, repentant. "When I was working last night, I could have sworn I saw someone that looked just like him leaving as I was driving in. I was far away, though, and I thought it was just my imagination. And then he showed up this morning and didn't exactly look his best, so… I don't know, I figured maybe I wasn't mistaken. But I still could be," she added quickly.
"He never said anything about being there," I said, curious. "We didn't really talk for too long, though. Do you think he's okay?"
My stomach was suddenly crawling with discomfort. Why would he have been at the hospital, of all places? The bruises on his face were days old, at least. Was he sick?
"I wouldn't worry too much," she said. "I mean, he's up and about, obviously, and if it was something serious, he'd still be there. I—geez, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up. Honestly, Bella, it probably wasn't even him."
I wrapped my hands around my icy glass, which was wet with condensation. "How many people in Forks do you know who look like Edward?"
Angela toyed with her straw, lowering her eyes to the table. She didn't have an answer for that. A few moments passed before she checked her phone. "It's almost eight. Go talk to him. You and I can call each other soon, but you should talk to him in person while you still can. Does he even know you're leaving tomorrow?"
Sighing, I combed through my hair with my fingers, thinking back to earlier that evening. "Yeah. He knows."
"So go," she said. "I don't think it's cool that he didn't call you, either, but maybe he has a good reason for it. Even if you don't talk, you could listen. Know what I mean?"
If Angela had all the details, she'd probably be pushing me out of my chair and telling me what a cold-hearted wench I was being. Glumly, I nodded, stirring my still-full drink. "I guess. I'm wondering if he even stuck around."
"I'd be surprised if he left," she said. "Something tells me he didn't come all the way back here to leave things unfinished."
"Yeah, he must have a reason," I commented as I gathered my purse. "I was just shocked to see him and got too sensitive, I guess. Think he'll talk to me?"
Angela wiggled her eyebrows. "He might want to do more than talk."
I laughed slightly, thinking that was probably the farthest thing from the truth, and pulled on my sweater. Angela hopped out of her chair and enveloped me in a tight hug. "I'll miss you," she said. "Call me from the train tomorrow? I need to know whether or not I need to kick Edward's ass if he ends up being an ass, or give him a hug because he's miserable without your ass."
I laughed, trying not to cry again. I really hated goodbyes. "Okay," I said softly, resting my chin on her shoulder. "Thank you. I'll miss you, too."
"I'll miss'h you more," came Ben's voice, and a second later, both Angela and I were lifted into the air by another set of arms. We squealed and Ben growled playfully as he set us down, flashing us a smile with the pair of plastic, bloody teeth in his mouth. "S'hee you s'hoon, Bell-ahh."
"Oh my God. Drink your beer before you outgeek yourself," Angela cried, giggling.
"Maybe he'd like a Naughty Angela with a twist," I added, grinning.
Ben spun toward Angela and pulled her close. "Ooh, there's an idea," he said, after removing his fake fangs. I smiled at the happy sight of them, and we snapped a quick picture together before we all said goodbye.
As I drove back to Forks, I turned off the radio and only listened to the rushing wind outside the window. The night had been fun, after all, but guilt was progressively bubbling in the pit of my stomach. I couldn't help but wish that Edward had been there to be involved in the crazy fun that always resulted in hanging out with Angela and Ben. He deserved to smile and be among friends, too; most of all, he was entitled to a break from all the grief—both from his past and my dramatic outburst. Even though we hadn't had the best day with each other, instead of getting all huffy, I should have asked him to just come out with us. We both needed time to calm down, and we could have talked about everything afterward.
My truck's engine rumbled tiredly and I patted the dashboard. "Me too, baby," I said, looking up at the sky as rain began to fall.
-:-
There was a movie going on in the Entertainment Hall when I arrived at the lodge. The lobby was empty and even Doris was absent from her desk. I figured she was probably watching the film, too. Edward's car was still parked outside, so I assumed he'd be somewhere downstairs, unless he actually had checked in for the evening.
It was almost nine-thirty. Maybe he'd gone to bed. I hadn't told him what time I was leaving in the morning; I wondered if he was planning on seeing me before then. Not that he actually cared anymore, after the way I acted. I'd let my emotions get the best of me and he probably couldn't help but get defensive. I needed to talk to him before I left—I couldn't let my last words to him be something so spiteful.
I decided to go to my room and check to see if he was in the room he'd stayed in before. If he wasn't there, I figured I could always sneak into the Entertainment Hall and ask Doris which room she'd given him. For all I knew, he was watching the movie with everyone else. Either way, I figured I'd find him sooner or later.
But I didn't have to do anything, other than make the mountainous climb to the fourth floor. Edward was waiting in the hallway, sitting against the wall with a half-empty cup of coffee next to his feet. He was already in his nightclothes: navy sweatpants and a white, long-sleeved thermal shirt. He looked at me with fatigued eyes, into which his damp hair was falling—he must have just showered—and I felt my body flush with warmth, cooling in the next few seconds. After all the grief and frustration, he still made me sweat.
Walking slowly, I let my purse hang loosely from my fist and it bounced off my leg with every step. I took a silent, shaky breath before sitting beside him and watched his expression carefully, hoping he wasn't angry anymore. Thankfully, he didn't seem to be. The silence between us was no longer awkward; it was solemn and worn out, just like us.
I thought about offering a quiet 'Hi,' but my voice felt lodged in my throat. Eventually, he met my eyes again, and we shared a short, reflective look that made me ache. Hadn't we been apart long enough, after all? Edward had his arms folded across his knees, and before I could reconsider, I scooted closer, linking my hands around his bicep and leaning my head on his shoulder. Hopefully, he could read my mind through my actions.
I'm sorry.
I closed my eyes, relishing in the clash of his soft skin and muscle, and how warm he was. I knew I had to soak it up in case he shrugged me off, but slowly, I felt him lean toward me and rest his head above mine. A second later, his other hand caressed my cheek before sliding down around my arm, pulling me closer.
I relaxed a bit, gladly repositioning my arms to hug him, and he sighed, his warm breath hitting my hair. Without saying a word, we inched closer and closer, adjusting our bodies until he finally pulled me into his lap, enveloping me in his arms as I rested my head on the curve of his neck. Touching him was therapeutic and soothing, and feeling him so close was the greatest kind of comfort and relief, especially after having been so worried about him. I hoped that maybe some of the broken bits and pieces between us had been patched back together, and if we spoke honestly, it might be possible to make things okay before I had to leave.
Clearly, he was exhausted, probably bordering on feeling delusional from lack of sleep, and we wouldn't be able to talk all night if he was semi-delirious. Still, I didn't speak, fearing that words would ruin the moment, that they would give us a reason to move out of each others' arms.
In the end, Edward broke the silence first.
"I know you don't like it when I apologize, but I think in this case you deserve one," he said, his voice hoarse. "More than one."
"You deserve it more than I—" I started to say, but he shook his head.
"No, you already did," he replied. "I was being too childish to pay attention."
"You gave me plenty, and I was a jerk," I said, pressing my forehead to his chin. He smelled like soap and sweet air. "I was just so surprised to see you this morning. I knew I was leaving, and all I could think of was having to say goodbye again. I can't believe I jumped down your throat like that. I'm sorry I hurt your feelings—for not being more understanding."
"It's all right. I should have given you some answers and not waited to harass you in the parking lot about why you were leaving," he said. "Obviously, you weren't going to stay here forever. I'm lucky that I even arrived before you did go. With all that's been happening, I completely lost track of time. I don't even know what day it is."
"It's Halloween," I answered lightly.
"Oh," he said faintly. "Well, that explains the spider stuck to your purse."
I narrowed my eyes, and sure enough, a black spider ring was hooked around my purse's strap, probably put there by Ben.
"I didn't realize it was a ring at first," he continued. "I kept watching it, waiting for it to move. I didn't want to freak you out."
A small laugh barely escaped my throat at first, but then grew as more tension slowly melted, and it was suddenly the funniest thing that had happened all day. He had effectively lightened the mood.
I sighed, still chuckling, and raised my head to look at him, quickly growing a bit more serious. "I really missed you," I said, feeling my body temperature slowly increase from looking into his eyes so closely. "God, I'm so glad you're okay."
He half-smiled. "I missed you, too. A lot. And I'm sorry. For everything."
The low, husky sound of his voice made me want to kiss him, to feel the scratch of stubble on his jaw and taste the nectar of his skin, and melt the apologies coming from his mouth; no more regrets were necessary. My lips parted and my hand trembled, itching to pull his head closer to mine, but I figured it was just my hormones talking.
Speak first, kiss later.
"It's okay," I answered gently.
"It's not," he said, smoothing my hair. "But thank you."
I wasn't sure what to say, still a little afraid of saying the wrong thing, but something was nagging me suddenly more than anything else.
"You've lost weight," I remarked softly, tracing my hand over his shirt. I was trying to ignore the fact that I could notice simply by touching him, but it was too unsettling to discount.
"I know," he answered. "A bit scraggly, aren't I?"
"Just thinner than I remember. Have you been sick?"
He creased his eyebrows, appearing slightly amused. "Do I look that bad?"
Truthfully, he looked like he felt like shit, but I didn't want to hurt his feelings, so I shook my head. "It's just…" I couldn't stop myself from gliding my fingers along the bruise on his cheek. "Angela mentioned that she thought she saw you at the hospital last night. And I'm pretty sure you're hard to mistake for someone else. Was it you?"
His hands slowly slid down my arms and broke their connection as he placed them on the floor. "Yeah, it was me," he answered dimly. "Is that why you're hugging me? You think I'm dying or something?"
"No!" I said, surprised, cupping his cheek. "No, I was just worried. I would hug you even if Angela hadn't told me anything. I didn't want to argue anymore and wanted to say how sorry I am."
He still didn't move to hold me again, but he didn't shove me away either.
"So, are you okay?" I asked timidly.
"Do you have to worry about everything?" he said, exasperated.
I should have just kissed him.
I furrowed my eyebrows, tightening my grip on his arm and leaning against him, huffing. Obviously, he hadn't lost any of his obstinacy, but neither had I.
"Edward, you know damn well that if I showed up on your doorstep, out of the blue, covered in bruises and fifteen pounds lighter, you wouldn't just sit back and knit yourself a fucking sweater."
After a few moments of silence, he unexpectedly started shaking, and I quickly pulled away from him, concerned, but my mouth dropped when I realized he was laughing.
"Are you serious?" I asked. "I'm funny all of a sudden?"
Edward continued chuckling, a silly, tired smile on his face, and while it was adorable, I was baffled.
"Yes," he said after he calmed somewhat. "I lost weight because, apparently, I take horrible care of myself when I'm in revenge-mode. I was at the hospital because I was dehydrated and passed out at a gas station. And—"
"You passed out at a gas station?"
"Well, yes—I'm fine, but that's a story for later. Anyway, this—" He circled his finger around his face, indicating his bruises. "This is my own fault. It was a stupid fight. I was being an idiot and someone decided to shut me up."
Even though his voice was lighthearted, a waver was present, telling me something was up.
"I believe you didn't care for yourself," I said. "But I think you're lying about the last part."
I almost regretted saying it, because I knew his smile would disappear, and it slowly did. He exhaled and shook his head, shrugging his shoulders. "Well, you're wrong."
Reluctantly, I slid myself off his lap and sat in front of him. "Edward," I said, feeling embarrassed at how desperate I sounded. "Don't get upset just because I can read you better than you'd like me to. Why do you think it's better if you don't tell me the truth?"
"I'm not lying to you," he said, keeping his eyes on the opposite end of the hallway. "What time are you leaving tomorrow?"
"Well, since you're not avoiding the subject, or anything, five AM," I said wryly. "It's almost ten. Do you have to be up early?"
He shook his head and glanced at his wrist again, then looked back at me.
"What happened to your watch?" I asked. Hell, I'd asked him everything else under the sun. What was one more question?
"It broke," he answered tiredly, tracing invisible lines in the carpet with his thumb.
It seemed like there was more to that, too, but I decided not to press.
Inhaling and letting my breath out slowly, I said, "I'm not happy about leaving, you know. I don't want us to leave things so up in the air, but I don't want to rush through a conversation, either. I wish we had more time to talk, but you look so tired. I don't want you to stay awake just for me."
Edward looked up, seeming confused before he raised his eyebrows. "Really, Bella?"
"Really, what?"
"Don't you know—" He chuckled, leaning his head on his hand. "Don't you know that I came back here 'just for you'?"
My eyebrows felt as though they had raised to my hairline. I'd wished for that—and hoped for it, obviously. However, I never expected to hear him say it aloud. He didn't seem to be messing around, either. I was speechless.
"I mean, it's not that hard to believe, is it?" he said.
"I—I don't know," I said, my voice just above a whisper. "You didn't answer when I asked why you came back."
"I know," he said, lifting his coffee cup and taking a sip. "Have you ever had something planned—a speech of sorts—and then, somehow, you couldn't quite bring yourself to say any of it when you had the chance?"
I nodded, playing with a lock of my hair. More than he knew.
"I was pretty surprised to see you, too," he said. "My mind went completely blank. And you were so mad."
"I was," I admitted, "and I'm so sorry. I think I was in shock."
"Don't," he said, pulling my hand into his. "You were right. I should have called to tell you I was coming. It certainly would have saved us a lot of… grief."
On the last word, his expression turned forlorn again as he sat up straight. He brushed his thumb over my knuckles, and I watched him carefully. I knew that look—whatever he was thinking wasn't promising.
"What's wrong?" I asked, scooting closer, fighting the desire to maneuver my way into his arms again.
He sighed quietly, absentmindedly twisting the collar of his shirt. "My timing," he answered, and suddenly, he took a short breath and leaned his head against the wall, closing his eyes for a few moments. "And I've been awake for too long. It's catching up with me and I keep ignoring it, but… I don't want to stop talking, but I don't know if I can sit up for much longer."
He reached for the coffee by his side again, but I stopped him.
"No, don't," I said, pulling his arm back. "I understand. You should go to bed."
I cleared my throat, my voice growing thick, and I let go of him to run my fingers through my hair. A goodbye was coming, and I wasn't ready. Not that I ever would be for something like this.
Though, I supposed I could say 'fuck the train' and postpone. I could get a flight out another day. It would be expensive to rebook this later, but it would be worth spending more time with him, especially since he'd driven through numerous states to see me again.
"I don't have to leave," I told him suddenly. "Not right now. I can wait."
"Don't be silly," Edward said dimly and so softly, I could barely hear him. "You have to go home."
He looked miserable, probably from fatigue, but maybe from sadness, too. As unhappy as I was about leaving him, I supposed he might feel the same way. I reached out for his hands again, and though he let me hold them, he didn't reciprocate the squeeze. He was wilting in slow motion, just like I'd seen so many times before.
"I don't have anything else planned. I could stay for another week or two—longer, even."
"Even if you stay, we're going to have to say goodbye eventually," he continued, his eyes narrowing to the staircase. "This is inevitable."
I bit the inside of my lip, thinking. Since he had traveled all the way back to Forks, maybe he would be willing to go a little further.
"It doesn't have to be. Why don't you come with me?" I said, perking up at the idea. "To Jacksonville? You could buy a train ticket in the morning and put your car on the same transporter as mine. I mean, I registered it a week ago, but even if it has to be placed on another—"
"Bella," Edward interrupted, but I continued.
"I could drive you once we're in Florida. And if you think it would be too weird staying in my apartment, there are plenty of hotels around."
"I think it's too difficult," he said slowly, making my heart sink. "And I'm too..." He winced, running a hand over his eyes, "Unstable right now."
Shit. I hadn't forgotten his nightmares or the unavoidable panic that he experienced from time to time, but I'd been thinking too fast. He'd been through so much change in the past year and probably needed a break—maybe he needed more time to heal before he could take on a relationship that exceeded friendship. My chaotic brain was finally absorbing Mr. Miller's wisdom.
Although my chest throbbed at the very thought of leaving without him, I nodded.
"It'll be okay," I said, speaking in the most optimistic voice I could manage. "I understand—you need time. We can keep in touch until we can work something out, can't we?" I smiled, nudging his arm, though he didn't look up. "I mean, you'll have to promise me that if you call, you'll actually talk to me when I answer."
I forced a laugh to let him know I was joking, but he kept his eyes on the floor and slowly shook his head.
"That's the thing. I don't think we should call each other."
My insides froze for a moment. A creeping ache spread through my stomach, which invisibly twisted at his words.
"Wait—what? Why?" I asked, mildly disbelieving.
Edward cleared his throat. "It would be easier. To forget, you know?"
Forget.
He wanted to forget.
"You want us to say goodbye… and that's it?" I narrowed my eyes when he didn't respond, then drew them back to him, calculating. "This is the part where you're lying to me, right? To make me go away mad so you don't hurt me in the long run. Right?"
He looked like he might cry. "I mean, no, I don't want to make you mad, but... you said it best, you know? We only knew each other for a little over a week. And I caused you a lot of pain in such a short time."
"No, don't even," I said, giving a dry laugh, while simultaneously feeling tears come to my eyes. "You came back for me, but now you're telling me to go without another word, and forget? Forget what, that we ever met?"
He twisted his hand in his hair, frowning. His voice was like shredded satin as he spoke, simultaneously soft and torn. "Even after I left, I still was hurting you—you told me yourself. I can't keep popping into your life like this. Do you know how selfish that would make me?"
"That's not true. Even with all the drama, my time with you was unforgettable," I said, pulling one of his hands out of his hair and holding it between both of mine. "And wanting something isn't wrong. Everyone wants something. Wanting anything that you really don't care about—that's selfish. And if we care about each other—"
"Please don't make this any harder than it is," he murmured, staring at the floor.
"Do you want to be by yourself?" I asked, trying to hold myself together. "I mean, it's one thing if you don't want a relationship, but why are you trying to break off contact?"
"It's not a question of what I want—"
"The hell it isn't!" I cried, feeling panic rise in my chest and a cold sweat sweep over my body. This wasn't how this was supposed to end.
"I really should have known better," he continued. "I'm carrying around one less problem, but just because I'm not out seeking revenge doesn't mean I'm any less damaged."
"Well… I don't expect you to be whole in a snap," I said, grasping for the right words. "God, Edward, I don't count on you to be perfect. That's not what I'm looking for—not in anyone."
His silence wasn't good.
"This is coming out all wrong," I said anxiously, continuing to squeeze his hands. "I don't mean that I think you're going to be some kind of disappointment either. But I can understand that there are things you've gone through that I can't fully grasp. And I'm not sure what happened while you were gone, so... I'm saying that I don't expect you to just get over everything in a heartbeat. I know it will take time, but I'm willing to be there as your friend. I meant what I said in my note, I promise you."
He looked as though my words made him uncomfortable instead of calming him, and I swallowed thickly, unsure of what else to say. He cleared his throat, and said quietly, "You deserve someone better than me. You really do."
I scoffed out a laugh. "That's not true. I like you for who you are. And we both know that I'm not perfect either."
"You're going to go home, and you'll be fine," he said, though he sounded like he was reading a script. "You've got your family and friends and so many other opportunities."
I opened my mouth to say something, but he quickly added, "Don't pretend like that's not true."
My cheeks felt like they were on fire and my hands slipped from his as he pulled away from my grip. "Yes, it's true," I said in a shaky voice, "but who says you can't be included?"
My head was swimming in a dizzy, overwhelming haze. Was he really doing this? Was he really telling me goodbye? Forever?
"I think you're lying, either to me or to yourself," I tried once more.
"I'm not," he said, lowering his eyes, and before I could say anything else, he pulled a familiar piece of paper from his pocket. "But you should probably take this."
Bright yellow. I watched with fixed eyes as he placed the letter I'd written to him on the floor, next to me.
"I might be able to avoid it for a little while, but I've already caved once. I know I would call you again, and you shouldn't have to put up with all of this back-and-forth emotional mess, especially not when you're hundreds of miles away. I mean, you—"
He kept talking, but like it was like flicking a switch as I tuned him out. I stared at the little folded sheet that contained everything I'd poured out to him. Like pins and needles, my chest felt peppered with twinges, causing a sort of corrosion across the sturdy facade I was trying to hold together. I remained silent and crossed my arms over my knees. I always thought things happened for a reason, but right now, it was hard to see why he and I had met each other, particularly if one of the major things to come out of our relationship was pain. What was the lesson? That life and loss could be shittier than I originally thought?
Now, he was giving everything back that I had given to him.
He had stopped talking, leaving us in dismal silence.
"See, I'm hurting you, even now," he said, his voice breaking through the thick air.
I could barely speak, but I managed to rasp, "That's because you're telling me you don't want to be friends. You don't even want to talk to me again."
For a second, I thought I was going to cry. I chose not to look at him—this was heartbreaking.
"God, I told you, Bella," Edward continued. "I told you this would happen in the end. I never meant to let it get—"
I couldn't hear this. Maybe he was right. This was too hard, too painful to hear every time the going got tough.
"Wait here," I deadpanned.
Unsteadily, I got to my feet, scooping up my purse before I could trip on it, and unlocked my door. I moved like a zombie at first, simply scaling my room before I went into the bathroom and stared at my reflection for a few moments. My clothes and my hair were holding up surprisingly well, but my eyes frightened me. I saw the almost-identical eyes I'd carried two years ago—the aloof, deadened ones. The girl that I'd managed to bury in the dark was attempting to claw her way inside my soul again. It was going to be difficult to not allow myself to slip this time.
I grabbed my toothbrush and toothpaste, went back into the bedroom to snatch my clothes that were still sitting out, and stuffed everything into my suitcase.
Tucking my car keys into my pocket, I stood up, trying to swallow the nausea that was creeping up my throat. I glanced around the room to make sure I hadn't missed anything and tossed my duffels and purse out into the hallway, followed by pushing my suitcase over the threshold. I had everything I needed, except for three things: Edward's shirt, shorts, and CD.
But, they weren't meant to be mine.
I clenched my teeth as I turned off the lights, locking the door after I stepped out into the hall. I wasn't angry—I was only trying to keep my bottom lip from quivering like a child's might. Edward was already standing, staring at my scattered luggage, but he looked up as I walked toward him and offered up his clothes.
"Here," I said miserably, and he slowly took them. After a moment of hesitation, I held out the Ludovico Einaudi CD, complete with the insert that carried his note to me. "This, too."
He didn't move to take it, instead sighing sadly. "That was a gift."
"I can't keep memories of you, not if you don't want any of me."
His jaw was tightly set, and I ended up having to push it into his hands when he still didn't move to receive it. I knelt to pick up my discarded letter, stuffing it into my pocket. I didn't want him to be the one to throw it away if I left it. I wanted to do it myself.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Edward toss his belongings to the floor, and he came down to my level.
"Everything that I say comes out wrong, no matter how I say it," he said urgently, and when I tried to zip my purse, he placed his other hand atop mine. "Don't you understand that I'm telling you all this because I care about you?"
"Yeah? Well, I care about you, too," I said, sniffling, barely able to see as I stood up. "And I know you need time and I was willing to wait as long as it takes, but you want to sever our relationship completely and not even allow a friendship. And then you give me this—" I paused, pulling the letter back out and holding it up, "when it's supposed to be yours. You could have just thrown it out without telling me instead of—"
I was half-choking over my words and decided to stop talking before I made an even bigger fool out of myself. I shoved my purse inside a duffel bag and jammed the letter into my pocket, then lifted both bags onto my shoulder. I grabbed the handle of my suitcase, but before I could move toward the stairs, Edward grabbed onto my arm.
"Wait," he pleaded, stopping me mid-step, and I froze when he took my face into his hands. He brushed my hair away from my eyes, pressing his forehead to mine. "Bella, you owe me nothing. Not one thing, not one word, and I know that, but please, wait a minute."
I tried not to focus on his sweet scent or the warmth of his skin, because it made me less upset and forget why I was leaving instead of continuing to fight back, and I needed to feel both if I was going to have the strength to walk away.
"You're not even close. I'm not trying to give you back the letter because I don't want it anymore," he said softly, running his fingers through my hair. "Didn't you hear me? I'm just afraid I won't be able to stop myself from calling you and popping up at inconvenient times. And having it won't let me be strong enough to stop myself. You're going home and you don't deserve any more of my bullshit, especially when it's long-distance. I'm not trying to play the victim, either. It's just bad timing, obviously, and—Christ, this is all beside the point."
I felt like my knees might buckle.
"I read what you wrote so many times, I could recite it to you," he said, lifting his head and resting his chin on my hair. "No one's ever said something so kind to me. I guess I just wanted you to save those words for someone who deserves them more."
"Someone else," I repeated bitterly.
"I don't know, maybe," he said, sounding hurt. "But I'll always remember everything you said. Please believe me."
Sincerity. He was good at that emotion, but for whose benefit?
"You're pretending again, aren't you?" I asked bleakly.
"No," Edward breathed. "I'm not, I promise." I didn't give any sign of an answer, and he squeezed my shoulders, putting his lips to my forehead, which tickled as he spoke. "I'm sorry."
He always was. We stood in heartrending silence as I hoped he would suddenly change his mind and plead for me to stay or to come with me. But he didn't.
After my body began to tremble from the weight of my bags, I finally said, "So, this is it? You won't call and I guess I can't since you never gave me your phone number. This is the last time I'll speak to you. Or see you."
"I'm sorry," he repeated quietly.
I swallowed thickly. "Goodbye, I guess," I said in a throaty voice.
Edward inhaled sharply, and he loosened his grip on my shirt. "I'm just so—"
"You're sorry," I finished for him, losing my composure. "Me too."
He shook his head, but I shrugged out of his grasp and got my bags together—he tried lifting one but I quickly said, "Leave it."
I didn't look at him again until I walked to the top of the staircase, giving him one last look as tears streamed down my cheeks.
He barely looked at me as he choked out, "Bye, Bella."
Swallowing that finality, I swiped my arm over my face and tightened my grip on my luggage. For the first time, it felt more difficult to walk down the stairs than to climb up them.
-:-
I was cold. I supposed the abnormally warm temperature of the day had confused the owners of the diner, either rendering them to turn off the heat or turn on the air-conditioning. Either way, I was enduring chills that were making my skin ripple with gooseflesh, and the dish of ice cream in front of me wasn't aiding my sporadic shivering.
I'd always heard freezing to death was one of the better ways to go; at least, that's what I reasoned after taking an Anatomy and Physiology class. It was certainly a slower process than most ways to die, but once a person's nerve endings succumbed to the cold, the hard part was over. All you had to wait for was the sense of calm, for the hazy, sleepy blanket of darkness to overtake you.
I rubbed my eyes. Why the hell was I thinking about that?
"Too many horror novels," I muttered to myself and dipped my spoon back into the mound of Rocky Road, which was an ironic flavor of choice, considering my evening. Or my entire relationship with Edward.
A big part of me hoped that he was in for a long night of sleep, without nightmares, or anything else to interrupt. The other tiny, resentful part of me hoped he felt terrible in the morning. I still couldn't believe, after all that happened over the course of knowing each other, he had left things basically saying it was better if we forgot each other.
I took another bite of ice cream, trying to let chocolate and marshmallows quell the pain, or at least put me into a sugar coma. Essentially, I was stalling. I'd driven out of the lodge's long drive and only made it past a few stoplights before taking refuge in the diner's parking lot. After I finished crying, I decided that it would be better to wait inside and have a few cups of coffee; I was going to need the extra caffeine if I was going to stay up all night. Now it was almost two AM, and I really didn't want to start driving to Seattle until at least four o'clock. I was pretty sure that I could try to drop my truck off early at Ballards, the transport station, but in case I couldn't, I didn't want to be waiting too long.
"Refill, hon?" the waitress asked, startling me. She was holding a pot of coffee, eyebrows raised in query. I felt like an idiot as I stared at her chest, where a little, googly-eyed pumpkin pin was pinned directly over her left boob.
"Oh," I said, tearing my eyes away from her and looking at my empty mug. I'd already consumed three cups, and slowly but surely, my bladder was feeling the pressure. "No, I think I'm okay for now."
"All right, then. Just wave me over if you need anything," she said, giving me a tired smile, and as she straightened her back, the pumpkin's eyes bounced around drunkenly. I wondered if that was how my eyes looked.
Nodding, I turned my attention back to my dessert. After I was done eating, I stared into space for an indiscernible amount of time and then went to the ladies' room. I took care of my business and uninhibitedly snorted as I noticed a bright white scribble of 'Jessica Stanley Can Eat My Cooch' written across the stall's door.
I chuckled as I washed my hands, thinking at least there was someone in this town I was glad to leave behind. The paper towel dispenser was empty, so I dried my hands on my jeans, but my smirk melted off my face as I felt a lump of paper wedged in my pocket. I pulled it out, spinning it around in my hands while eyeing the trashcan. I knew I had no use for the letter. If I kept it, it would remain nothing but a haunting reminder.
I knew that once I threw away my note, I would have nothing left of him; it wasn't as if he'd been the one to write it, but it was something he'd carried with him, something that he knew by heart, if he had been telling the truth. I'd given back his things, so in a way, it was my last piece of him.
Slowly, I unfolded it, noticing the wrinkles in the corners, the worn creases in the hubs of the folds. Maybe he had read it often, after all. So, I decided to let myself read it one more time before it went into the trash.
Edward,
It's not often that I come across someone who I feel the need
to fight for. Maybe it's because, for so long, I haven't truly seen.
I closed my eyes to everyone, and yet, somehow, you opened them.
And I can't imagine that this is it for us.
Please, don't give yourself away to something so awful.
You're worth so much more than you believe.
Let me help you see the good that I see in your heart.
I hope that if you ever change your mind, you'll think of me.
It's never too late to help yourself. Meeting you was my proof,
and you lit a spark that I never would have found on my own.
Maybe one day I'll actually have the courage to say
this to your face. At least, I hope I'll have the chance.
Call me. Please.
-Bella
I'd expected to be unsurprised by everything written. After all, I had penned the words; I already knew what it said before opening it. What I hadn't counted on was an additional post-script message. Underneath my phone number, which was scrawled below my name, was Edward's handwriting, though I knew instantly that the lines printed were not his words.
The heart can think of no devotion
Greater than being shore to the ocean
Holding the curve of one position
Counting an endless repetition.
It was my favorite poem; Devotion, by Robert Frost. But why had he written it in my letter to him? I knew what that poem stood for, and it wasn't something casual or funny, or witty. It was a confession.
He couldn't love me—but why would he have given the letter back when he knew there was a chance I would read it? Had he meant for me to see it or forgotten it was there?
Ambling back to my table, I slumped into the booth and folded the letter into a small rectangle. My head started to ache, and I knew I couldn't eat enough ice cream to fix this. I was going to carry numerous questions and sadness on my shoulders for months, and it just didn't make sense.
The more I sat and thought about it, if Edward really thought I deserved someone better, he wouldn't have driven hundreds of miles to tell me so. And if he seriously wanted to be alone, he wouldn't have come back at all, or made contact of any kind, whether it was silence over the phone or speaking inches away from my face.
He'd come back for me—the words were his own—but then gave me a push toward my life without him. Even though he cared about me and I cared for him, he had made a decision to let me go. He wouldn't have gone to the lodge if he didn't want to see me, and even though we'd surprised each other outside, I remembered him saying he was lucky to have caught me before I left.
I was wholly confused. If it had been his intention to see me, what changed his mind after he did talk to me?
It took me a minute to think that the answer might be everything.
I'd given him every reason to doubt himself the second I'd opened my mouth that morning. I let him know exactly how much he'd hurt me and how I was tired of crying over him. He probably wanted to explain things at his own pace, but I'd been impatient. It wasn't a wonder why he'd muttered how he should have known better. I had changed his mind. Now, he was afraid of hurting me and of getting hurt himself.
I tiredly rubbed my hand over my eyes, feeling so incredibly stupid. Edward had copious amounts of mental, physical, and emotional wreckage, and was dealing with exhaustion and grief on top of that, all on his own. I wasn't a stranger to pushing people away or thinking I wasn't good enough; to me, it made sense that he would be scared to let me into his life more than he already had. I knew that he thought of himself as a burden, and despite my insistence that he wasn't, and by telling him how much I cared about him, he was still stubborn. He truly believed that I was better off without him.
No matter what he'd thought before—now, in his eyes, he was the waves, and I was the shore, and by continuously crashing into me, he thought he was causing erosion.
And he was so, so wrong.
After I got my things together, I slapped a twenty-dollar bill on the table, called out my gratitude to the waitress, and bolted out of the diner. I jumped into my truck and slammed the door, shoving my purse between my duffel bags, doubtlessly crushing the train ticket that lay inside. I didn't care. I didn't need it anymore.
All I could think about was how, right now, I needed Edward. And though I hadn't heard it directly from his mouth, I thought that he might need me, too.
The drive to the lodge took two minutes and I pulled back into the same parking spot I'd originally occupied. I left everything but my purse in my truck, figuring I could haul the other bags back inside at an appropriate hour, and tucked my keys away as I jogged to the lodge's door, shivering from the wind. The little bell greeted me with its tinkling chime, welcoming me back for the umpteenth time, and I sucked in a deep breath as I walked.
Maybe I was wrong or just plain presumptuous. If it was possible, I might make things worse. But, remembering Doris's words, I knew that Edward and I weren't dead yet—and if I learned anything during my stay, it was that life was too short to be unhappy.
I'd never been so enthusiastic about climbing those goddamn flights of stairs.
-:-
