-:-
"… get mixed up in all this…"
"… Jared tried, but he wouldn't come back…"
"… the one with the red hair…"
"… only one who did is Emmett…"
Somewhere, in the nebulous rift between nothingness and certainty, soft voices sporadically invaded my thoughts and eventually pulled me out of sleep. It was mostly a girl's voice, sounding hushed on purpose as if trying to avoid waking a sleeping baby.
I blinked groggily, taking in my surroundings, slowly remembering where I was: Jacob's house, and stretched out on the couch like a cat. I barely remembered falling asleep and the curtains weren't outlined with any sort of light, so I guessed it was still very early.
"Bella?"
I sat up quickly, stuck in the blanket that Jacob had given me, and turned toward the kitchen. He was the one who had called my name and was standing in the doorway with a tall, pretty girl with olive skin and dark, wavy hair that fell just below her shoulders. She looked so much different than the last time I'd seen her, which was nearly ten years ago, but I still recognized her: Leah Clearwater.
"Hi," I said shyly, my voice thick with sleep. "God, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep."
"Well, it was almost four in the morning," Jacob answered with a small smile that scarcely lit his weary expression. "I didn't wake you, did I? I only thought you were up because the snoring stopped."
My mouth fell open in embarrassment, but Leah gave him a shove. "Don't listen to him, he's lying," she told me. "You weren't. He was, though, when I walked in."
Jacob gave a slight chuckle and rolled his eyes at her. "It's called being in a deep slumber."
She rolled her eyes right back and walked over to the sofa. "I'm not sure if you remember me. You were twelve when I last saw you. Leah Clearwater?"
I stood up and smoothed my clothes, feeling a little awkward at being the only one in pajamas. "Yeah, of course," I said, returning her smile. "It's nice to see you. Not Clearwater for much longer though, right?"
She instinctively touched her left hand, where a diamond and turquoise ring encircled her finger. "Hard to believe, isn't it?" she said. "He's the boy who I used to run from, screaming."
"She used to pull my pants down, though," Jacob piped up. "I knew she always wanted me."
Leah patiently pressed her lips together. "It took quite a few years to warm up to him. I still question it."
"You question nothing," he said with a laugh, reaching over and tucking her against his chest. "Admit it, babe, it was almost like you just woke up one day and were wild for me. No other explanation."
"I still think I might be in the process of having an aneurysm," she said, smirking. "We'll see."
I smiled at their teasing, the perfect way they fit into each others' arms, the way both of their eyes sparked when they locked gazes. It was familiar and lovely, and before any selfish sorrow could take over my expression, I reached for the blanket to fold.
"I promise I'll get out of your way in a minute," I assured them.
"It's no rush, Bells," Jacob said gently. "You don't have to go."
I shook my head, knowing that he was just being polite. Honestly, both of them looked beyond worn out. Jacob had been out all night and if Leah had arrived before the sun was even up, it was doubtful that she'd gotten any sleep, either. "No, really, it's okay. I should get back. Did you, uh… ever hear from your friend?"
They both shared a grim look before Leah confirmed, "Yeah. But he's not back. It's still one big snafu."
I nodded, feeling a pang of guilt for interrupting the situation. But hey, I was getting good at that, after all. "I'm sorry. I hope he comes home soon." I finished folding the blanket and looked toward the door. "I guess I should get Edward's car back."
So he could leave, that was.
As I bent to force my feet into the cold, bulky boots by the door, Jacob said, "I do have some good news, though. The guy from this morning—he's gone. You don't have to worry."
"He's gone?" I repeated, raising my eyebrows. "How do you know? Are you sure?"
"Yes. On his way to Canada, probably," he said with a strange edge to his voice. "But, uh… just rest easy, okay? He won't be back." I must have looked incredulous, because he added with a wink, "We know people who know people."
That didn't make a bit of sense to me. "Uh," I tried to laugh, "as in someone forcibly removed him? That's not code for somebody killed someone else, right?"
Jacob gave a playful roll of his eyes, but Leah suddenly looked uncomfortable. "It was nice seeing you again, Bella," she said politely. "I'm gonna go crash for a while, Jake. Wake me if you need me." She gave him a kiss on the cheek and disappeared down the hallway.
I finished tying my shoelaces and straightened, biting my lip as I glanced at Jacob.
"No one offed him, I promise," he finally said, answering the lingering question in the awkward air. "She's just upset about Rachel. Paul's girlfriend."
"Oh," I said, forlorn, reaching for the parka I'd worn. Why, didn't I have the greatest timing ever? "Man, I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"
"I know," he said, digging in his pocket and handing me Edward's car key. "Come on. I'll lead you back."
Behind Jacob, the ride back to the lodge was shorter than I expected, and the streets of La Push and Forks were dark and hauntingly still. Nothing moved, not even the trees. So when I got out of the car, it was startling as the wind unexpectedly stirred, howling in the distance and whipping past me like a train. Thunder grumbled overhead and I hunched my shoulders, unsettled by the foreboding milieu.
"Bells," Jacob called from his idling car. I walked over to the driver's door, not really wanting to say goodbye like this. I wasn't sure if I would have the chance to see him again before I left. "Be careful, okay?"
I nodded and quickly reached through the open window, wrapping my arms around his neck in a quick hug. "Thank you," I murmured. "Thank you for everything. Really."
His embrace was comforting and tight, nearly making me tear up all over again. "Don't mention it. I've got your back." He took my hand as I straightened, squeezing. "It'll be okay. Trust me, remember?"
I sniffled back a slew of heavy emotions. "I do. I'll see you."
After giving Jacob a final wave as he rode down the drive, I turned to the lodge's door. I had nowhere to go but up—well, the stairs. I wasn't exactly prepared to face Edward just yet, but I supposed I had some explaining to do, what with stealing his—
I froze as I glanced back at the parking lot. One very noticeable thing was missing. The brightness of the red-orange, rusty paint on the hulking frame of my truck was nowhere to be seen. Where I'd last parked it, right near the door, the space was now empty.
My mouth slowly opened as I processed that Edward must have taken my transportation. It was the only sensible explanation. My keys had been in his room and I'd left him without a car. Then, he'd left anyway.
"I'll be goddamned," I muttered as I pushed my way into the lodge.
I couldn't really be mad about it, seeing as I'd done the same exact thing—and first, too. He was only retaliating. Maybe he'd stolen it just for the sake of satisfaction or maybe because he didn't feel like calling a cab and needed to drive himself to a bus station. He could always have a tow truck come and haul his car wherever he wanted, after all; he knew I'd bring it right back to the lodge in the end.
It was still very early, barely after six o'clock, and the lobby was dim and quiet as I headed for the staircase. Since I was hardly paying attention to anything but my footsteps, I yelped as I saw something pop up from one of the armchairs.
"God," I gasped, my hand instinctively flying to my chest. "Mr. Miller. You scared me."
"Ms. Bella," he said in quiet surprise. He stared at me, taking in the sight of me as if I were a ghost. He held out his hand. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah," I said, breathing deep and accepting his hand, "I just didn't see you, that's—"
I was stunned out of speaking as he pulled me into his arms, holding me in a tight hug. I stood stiffly, narrowing my eyes and wondering what I'd done to earn a hug before I finally folded my arms behind his back. I was surprised I could feel the might of his grasp through my pillow-thick coat.
"Miss me?" I joked after a few moments.
Just as quickly as he'd embraced me, he pulled back, his weathered forehead scrunched with fierce lines. "You know, if I didn't have the impression that you've been through such an awful night, I'd be furious with you."
It was almost instantaneous how quickly I regressed to feeling like a guilty child. "What… Huh?"
"You two kids running off like the night isn't full of the unknown," he continued, ruffling his thin, gray hair in agitation. "I would have hoped you wouldn't let your emotions get the better of you, the both of you."
I sighed softly, feeling like sinking into the floor. Edward and I—the center of everyone's attention. "How do you know about all this?" I asked tiredly. "You couldn't hear us fighting, could you?"
"No. I happened to be taking a phone call when Edward tore out of here early this morning," he said, pointing to the first-floor restrooms where an old payphone hung on the wall between Gentlemen and Ladies. "He was a fine wreck, that much was clear. Only told me you'd run off first and needed to find you before—"
He didn't finish and sighed, and I plopped down on the sofa, reaching to turn on a lamp so we could actually see. "Before I crashed his car in a rage?"
"I understand you two had an argument, but I'm sure he didn't mean for you to venture out at night by yourself."
"I didn't think he'd come after me." Feeling guilty was getting trite, but the sentiment still crept into my chest like vines. "I would have brought his car back a lot sooner… but I got distracted."
It was almost poetic when I thought about it. I gave a small chuckle, which escalated into full-blown giggles—the 'If I don't laugh, I'll cry' kind. Tears came to my eyes anyway, but they didn't fall.
"Missy, you don't honestly believe he was upset about the car?" Mr. Miller said when I, at last, grew quiet.
"Maybe partly he was," I answered, my emotions playing tug-of-war, wanting simultaneous relief and detachment. "I'm not sure. He wasn't in a very caring mood, so I'm just assuming."
Mr. Miller's wrinkled hand patted my shoulder. "You remind me of Anna, you know. I gave her quite a hard time in our early years."
Anna, his late wife. I looked up with questioning eyes.
"I believe I mentioned that, many years ago, there was an incident—a bit of a bad experience on my part."
I remembered. "Something about the woods?"
"Mm," he said, nodding, reaching to tug up on his collar, which now I knew to be hiding a scar. "Encountered a wild beast, I did. No need to bother you with details, but I was pretty shaken up afterward. I had dreams that rattled my bones. I was scared to walk outside or turn the corners of my own hallways. And it didn't just take a toll on me, but my wife as well.
"I would often shut down and push her away, convinced she should go live out her life with someone who was capable of taking a walk down the street without going into a tizzy. She was at her wit's end with me half the time, and it guts my insides to think of all the times I made her cry. Sometimes I still wonder why she stayed, loving me through all those bad moments. But then, I remember just that—she loved me. For better or worse."
I watched as he thoughtfully smoothed the top of the wedding band on his finger and it was enough to send my tears over the edge. It wasn't fair that someone like Mr. Miller couldn't still have the love of his life with him. It wasn't fair that Edward couldn't have his family back, either. Death was a miserable bitch for making them both suffer such losses.
"You know how much he cares for you," he continued softly, tapping his finger on my wet cheek, catching a tear. "Inside, you still know it."
"That's the thing, though. I can think it, but it doesn't make it true. He told me he doesn't." My voice was shredded as I took a breath, wiping the tears off my face with my sleeve before gesturing to Mr. Miller's ring. "And he never promised me a 'for better or worse'. He can leave whenever he wants."
A few moments of somber silence passed as we sat together, as he sympathetically held my hand. I finally stood up, gesturing at my feet. "I should get these back in the kitchen before Tom comes."
Mr. Miller let go of my hand and patted my shoulder. "If you say so, missy. But you should call Edward. Tell him to come back. No matter what happened, I'm certain that he's not running around out there for the sake of it. He's looking for you. And driving and worrying is a bad combination."
It was hard to accept that as fact, but I nodded, going toward the kitchen with a quiet sigh. I replaced the old boots and lingered, leaning on the counter for a minute and wishing Tom was here; prepping the entire kitchen for breakfast would be soothing right about now—though I supposed I had other things to deal with first. Maybe I could help with dinner. Or maybe I could pack my stuff and catch an early flight home. Then again, the thought of having to explain anything to Renée and Charlie any earlier than I had to deterred that decision super quickly.
The lobby was bright when I exited the kitchen door, due to none other than Doris, now awake, and her early-bird routine of getting the lodge ready for the day. She was chattering over her shoulder to Mr. Miller, elbows-deep in the grandfather clock as I slowly tiptoed my way through the café.
"Isabella!" she said in surprise. "What on earth are you doing awake so—"
She was cut off by a grumble of thunder, to which she rolled her eyes. She waved her hand above her head, continuing "Word is, there's a warm front moving in. Makes the skies dance like the devil, but I can't say I'm not looking forward to a warm breeze tomorrow!" She closed the clock's front with a smile and blinked at me. "Goodness, honey, what on earth are you wearing?"
Oh, right. I was barefoot and wearing feline-printed outerwear.
"Oh, I was… so dumb." I tried to grin back and appear normal as I thought of a lie. "I locked myself out of my room this morning and didn't want to wake Edward, so… I just borrowed a few things so I could run to the store. I hope that was okay."
Edward wasn't even here and my hands were devoid of bags, a purse, and keys, but Doris didn't act the least bit suspicious, God bless her.
"Oh certainly, dear, I'm glad we had the right things lying around!" She beamed, patting the sleeve of the parka. "Unless you'd like to keep this, I'll put it in the box for Goodwill."
I slid out of the huge sleeves and handed it to her, actually managing a genuine laugh. "I think it would better suit someone else. I'm kind of swimming in it."
Doris chuckled. "Maybe that's for the best, after all. Oh! Good news! I have something for you. Two things, in fact."
She flitted to her desk and I followed, sharing a small, amused look with Mr. Miller. Doris just had that peppy effect on everyone, I supposed, no matter the situation. She opened a drawer and pulled out a FedEx envelope. "Your plane tickets arrived just last night, not long after you left me, wouldn't you know it? Reasonably early, considering the season."
"That was fast," I agreed. Renée must have sent the tickets a day or two before calling; she was quite the optimistic one, after all. In taking the envelope, I wished the flip of my stomach was one of excitement instead of regret. I tried to smile, though; I only had to lie for a little while longer. Doris would eventually find out that he was, in fact, leaving, and hopefully, he would be the one to explain to her. "Thank you for signing for them."
"Well, you're welcome, honey. And even more importantly, here's this."
She held out one more thing, the last thing I expected to be handed. I stared, unsure if it was what I thought. Because if it was—
"It was in one of the garbage bins, right on top. Luckily, it was on top of a bag, so nothing spilled on it."
"This was in the trash?"
"I'm sure Mr. Masen would be terribly upset if he thought it was missing." She smiled, patting my hand. "You know, the boys were going back and forth outside with that firewood for two hours. Darryl, my oldest, said he tossed a few pieces of litter when they were cleaning up, so I'm betting it got away from Mr. Masen at some point. It's a good thing I thought to add another bag to the can last night before the trucks came this morning to collect everything!"
In my hand sat Edward's letter, a glaring gold. It could have been hot coal with the way it felt on my palm because, deep down, something told me it hadn't ended up in the garbage by accident. And if that was true, Edward was done with me for good and there was nothing left to salvage.
"Maybe you should tell him you were the one who found it, dear. His extra-special something from his extra-special someone."
The grin I gave her was a strain through tears, and the small sob that escaped my throat thankfully came across as a laugh. I quickly hugged her so I could compose myself behind her back, scrunching my face to restrain myself from crying.
"Oh, honey, you're shaking," Doris said gently. "Maybe a nice hot shower will warm you up."
I got myself together just in time as she pulled back to see my face. "Yeah, that sounds like a plan. Maybe I'll see you for lunch, later?"
It was a lie. I couldn't imagine coming out of my room until it was time to leave for Seattle.
"Of course," she said warmly. "Oh, you need a spare room key, don't you?"
She disappeared into the back office and came back with a brass key.
I barely managed to utter, "Thank you, for everything." Once Doris was out of sight, I turned to a weary-eyed Mr. Miller and held out Edward's car key, keeping my voice low as I lost my composure and tears rolled down my face. "Will you do me a favor and give him this? I can't."
He didn't even try to reason with me. As soon as he'd taken the key, I hurried for the stairs. My pulse pounded as I climbed, not from the effort, but in anger and pure dejection.
Once inside my room, I locked my door and tossed the plane tickets to the floor, then went straight to my charging phone. I had four missed calls: Edward at two-forty-seven AM and three-twelve, another from Angela at three-thirty-four, and then one more from Edward at four on the dot. Angela had also left me a text message: Are you okay? Please call me.
Edward must have called her, thinking I would go to someone familiar, which would have been the smart thing to do. It might have been a work night for her, too. I could have sat in a nice, warm hospital cafeteria and drank horrible coffee with her on her break… if I only had a brain.
Still clasping the letter, I answered her with a short 'I'm fine, so sorry for any confusion. I'll call you later, I promise' and then breathed a sigh. My stomach was in knots and I felt cold and dirty and snotty, and all I wanted was a shower and to sleep for a month, but I knew I couldn't let Edward stay out all day and keep searching for me, not in the state of mind he'd been in. As pissed and hurt as I was, I wasn't that much of a bitch to stop caring. I scrolled to his name, tapped it to dial, and as I listened to the rings go by—my heart in my throat—I was almost positive I'd burst into tears the second I tried to talk.
In the middle of the fourth ring, he answered.
"God damn it, what the fuck do you want?"
His voice was like a kick in the stomach, my breath leaving my lungs in a whoosh. He had Caller ID, so he had to know it was me. I was correct; at the sound of his voice, I absolutely did want to bawl my eyes out.
I could barely speak. "I-I'm back at the lodge. Mr. Miller has your car key."
The silence was painful, but it didn't last long. "Jesus," he muttered. "Bella—"
I hung up, not wanting to hear anymore, and turned off my phone. Melodramatic, maybe, but I wasn't going to let him yell at me over a receiver; he could scream at my voicemail if he really wanted to. Hopefully, he would do the same as I had and give my coat and keys to someone else, or set them outside my door. I hoped he wouldn't try to say goodbye. I'd heard all I needed to hear.
Instead of throwing my phone against the wall (it already had enough damage), I placed it on the dresser and opened up the weathered piece of yellow paper in my other hand. I stared at the crinkled edges, the squared folds, my eyes too blurred with tears to read the words.
Then, I ripped it in half.
And again.
And again.
Again.
The slashing sound of tearing paper mirrored my heart, slicing and breaking for a second time. Little jagged pieces fell from my fingers like mocking confetti and landed in pieces at my feet. As my hands emptied, I felt like screaming but took to sobbing until there was nothing left.
Not bothering to clean up the mess of paper, I shed my clothes and stepped into a steaming shower, scrubbing away the sand and heavy emotions. My hands shook as I turned off the faucet, unsure if I was shivering or just trembling. I silently dressed in clean clothes and fell into bed with damp hair, burying myself under the comforter.
Even though dark clouds still covered the sky, the barest gray light lit the windows in a neon sting. I thought about getting up again to close the curtains, but I didn't have the energy. I was exhausted. I just wanted to sleep. I couldn't really, though, not for more than a few minutes at a time. Hours could have passed as I tossed and turned, alternating between periods of brief unconsciousness and interrupting sounds of ill-tempered wind and late-migrating birds. Creaks from above. Knocks on my door.
My eyes cracked open at the last noise and I was unsure if I'd imagined it. But then there was a click, then another creak—not one from the ceiling, but one of hinges and wood. My door had opened. I remembered locking it and only one person had my key. One person I was sure I couldn't bear to look at again.
I kept still, eyes closed, trying to breathe slowly. If he thought I was asleep, maybe he would go quietly. Maybe he would even kiss my cheek before he left, just for parting's sake. Or maybe he would wake me up to say, "Fuck you, too."
After the door had softly clicked closed, there were no footsteps, no calls of my name. At first, I thought he had simply left, maybe doing what I'd hoped—leaving my coat and keys inside, but then I heard a tangled sigh and a grazing sound against the wall or door, followed by a bit of restless noise. Then silence.
Only after several minutes had gone by did I dare to crack open my eyes.
Edward was sitting against my door, his lower back pressed against the wooden frame, head on his knees, hands twisted in his hair. The sight of him made me start to shake, and even though I didn't want him to notice me, I quickly rolled over, facing the opposite wall. I could still tell him to get out of my room if I had to.
I heard him stand and braced myself. I didn't know what he was going to do.
Footsteps. He was walking toward me and my heart felt similar to the night I'd first seen him, beating so hard—half in fear, half in anticipation.
"Bella?"
I was not expecting an icy hand to graze my arm. Flinching, I flipped back over and startled him, and in return, he startled me—his expression did, anyway. I didn't know what to expect him to look like—maybe a bit worn out—but I hadn't anticipated such an extreme amount of sorrow and agony to have swallowed him whole. It was as if he'd been beaten up, only without wounds or bruises to showcase. He was pale and heavy-lidded and looked ready to fall over. And here I thought I looked terrible.
"Why are you so cold?" I asked. Ah, fantastic. I was back to useless questions that had nothing to do with the situation.
"I left my coat here." His voice was both soft and raspy as if he'd been the one in bed, freshly awakened. That was probably a lie. He'd probably thrown that in the trash, too. "And the heat in your truck stopped working."
I almost apologized for my metal catastrophe on wheels but was too busy fighting the urge to sit up and either crush him with a hug or punch his face. Instead, I simply rolled back over. "If you're here to tell me you're leaving, don't bother. I've heard enough."
The sound of his breath was soft and I was sure I would hear the subdued murmur of, 'Okay then', followed by a gentle shuffle of departing footfalls, but I was wrong. The mattress creaked and dipped as he sat beside me, and he quietly said, "No."
I tensed as he lay down beside me, ready to tell him that just because I'd pointed out his lack of body heat, it wasn't an invitation to cuddle. But he didn't move any closer.
Waiting, I felt the pinch of grief pulse with every moment that ticked by. We'd been in this situation before and it was becoming tedious. Honestly, I didn't think he had the energy to have this conversation again either, but maybe he felt obligated to do it formally.
I listened to his breath stop and start, and the short, tired sighs that should have been words expired into silence each time he tried. After what felt like eons, he whispered, "I didn't know it was you on the phone. I answered it without looking. I thought you were—"
"It doesn't matter," I cut in. My body hadn't reached a halt of feeling, but my voice had. I'd already lost him, so there was no point in being nice, as if any of this was okay. "You don't have to explain. You don't have to say it, either."
The sheets swished as he moved. "Say what?"
"Sorry. Goodbye. That this doesn't work. That I don't understand, that you can't do it. I already know and I'd rather not hear it anymore." I sighed. "Why don't we just spare each other the exhaustion and be done? You didn't have to come back."
"Of course I did," he said hoarsely. "I've been looking for you all morning. I—what I said—I don't even know where to start."
"It's okay. Don't say it," I repeated. "Let's not do this. Please."
I would have taken his clipped exhale for frustration if it hadn't been so wretchedly laced with misery. "I said so many things I feel sick about and I can't—when I called you a—"
"If it's what you felt, then it is what it is," I interrupted again, determined to make this as quick as possible. "I get it. But if you don't mind, I'd rather not hear you say it again."
"Please don't do that," he said, sounding close to tears. "You're stronger than that—than I am. Please don't let me do that to you—break you apart like you don't matter."
"Well, it's nothing I haven't heard before. I'll live."
He cleared his throat and shifted again, making the blankets tug and bend across my back. "What are you talking about?" he finally asked.
I thought about keeping quiet, telling him never mind and that I had stupid guilt of my own that I didn't want to divulge. But the sudden feel of his hand on my shoulder pissed me off enough to not give a damn anymore.
"When I used to ask why my parents didn't live together like other moms and dads, Renée told me how she and Charlie had been young and irresponsible—distracted by life elsewhere. That it was no place for a baby to be living among so much fighting," I answered lethargically. "It doesn't take a genius to see that the distraction was the baby. Me.
"And then in second grade, my report card said 'Bella can be a distraction in some of her classes. She fidgets and speaks out of turn, sidetracking the other students.' I was pretty shy after that."
Edward took a breath like he was about to speak, but I went on, uncaring.
"Remember how I told you how, in ballet class, I would trip or bump into the other girls? Well, they used to complain to the teacher about how I was ruining everything. And I overheard the parents talking, too, about how distracting I was to watch because I was always out of sync. My teacher put me in the back row even though I was shorter. But it was for the best, you know?"
I felt his hand slip down to my waist, further interrupting the anesthetic my mind was trying to keep a hold of. I pushed him away.
"A few years ago, I dated someone for six months who I really started to care about, and then when I thought things were going great, he ended it with a text. I found out later he was only biding his time with me until the girl he really wanted dumped her boyfriend, and then he was done with me so he could make his move with her." I cleared my throat. "And then, of course, Phil was the last to insinuate it. 'Whiskey's not doing its job, Bella. Stuff's supposed to take my mind off of things.'"
I could hear Phil's voice so clearly in my head, and it was enough to make me shiver.
"Well, we both know what he did to make himself forget."
I pressed my fingers deep into my forehead, trying to alleviate the pain from crying so much earlier, feeling anger build up in my chest. "I really shouldn't be that surprised it happened here, too."
His voice cracked as he said, "I… no. I'm so sorry I ever—"
"And I know that you've had it hard, so hard that I'm sure you were dying to take your mind off of things no matter what, at first," I said, regaining some volume. "I probably would have done the same. But why—why would you let this go on for so long? Why would you tell me you loved me if you didn't?"
"I—"
"And how could you think for one second that I didn't love you—or that I wouldn't? It's the cruelest thing I can think of, tricking someone into loving you like that, and then to say that I was just in it for charity?" I couldn't continue, so mad at remembering his words that I started to cry—pissing me off further. I didn't want to cry in front of him anymore.
He moved closer, pulling me to his chest and burying his face in my neck. I heard him sniffle and suck in a breath. "It's unforgivable, isn't it?" he asked, sounding broken. "I can't fix this, can I?"
I didn't know how he expected me to talk with the flood of snot and salty weeping that was happening. And the word 'fix' did not make sense.
"Please," Edward whispered against my skin, his lips cool. "Don't cry, don't—" He tried combing his fingers through my hair, shushing me with whispers in my ear, but it wasn't comforting, it was crippling. "I know I can't take it back."
It hurt to breathe. "No, you can't. Get off."
A small huff of his breath hit my neck. "There wasn't an ounce of truth in it."
"Oh, don't pretend. You know there was."
"No." I could feel him shake his head as his fingers curled into my shirt. "No."
I wriggled, elbowing him away until he let go. "Why would you say it then, if it wasn't?" I asked, still unwilling to face him. "You just wouldn't have. Not those words. You're smarter than that, Edward."
"Because I couldn't—I needed—" He sounded breathless, as though speaking was too much for him. "I wasn't thinking. Or I was but for all the wrong reasons."
I shook my head. I didn't know what he meant and I didn't want to guess.
"I… I couldn't even bear to be in my own skin," he rasped. "I saw what I did to you. I threw you against the wall. I hurt you, and then I couldn't stop seeing your face from my dream. All I could think was how I could have—"
He sat up and put his hand on my arm. "It was the worst thing I've ever said. All of it was terrible and I—God, I'm so…" His words were voiced like muffled static, almost too soft to understand. "Sorry isn't enough."
I couldn't understand why he was trying so hard. There were two sides to my heart at that moment, one side clinging to its defense—the anger and pain, warning me not to believe him; the other tugged adamantly in the opposite direction—a warm, sympathetic pulse that wanted to soak up his words and put the entire day behind me.
Ultimately, this really wasn't about me—not for the most part, anyway. I was a small sliver among many splinters. He didn't need my whining or my anger, and I certainly didn't need to add insult to injury. I needed to suck it up because I still loved him, regardless of how he felt.
After taking a few deep breaths, I turned around to face him, pushing myself up on my elbows. He looked emotionally spent. Fatigue and pink, swollen skin were heavy around his eyes, complete with remnants of tears under his lashes. Looking at him was dangerous; it made me want to hug him and not let go, but that wouldn't accomplish anything except make me sob.
"Okay. I get it. You're upset and you don't want to feel like shit. I can understand that. I forgive you, okay?"
The words felt like a recording of my voice against my will. It was what he wanted to be said, what I knew I would feel eventually, only not so robotically. He stared at me, undoubtedly confused, and I swallowed, hoping that I wouldn't have to try too hard to convince him because I'd had enough of this.
"It's better, right?" I continued. "To not end this on bad terms? So let's just… be done so you can go."
His eyes closed, and I watched pain spread across the little creases over his forehead, in the part of his lips and the winded breath that softly brushed through them. It was like watching a painting come alive, feeling the emotion that rippled through the colors, the layers. Tears swam in his eyes as he sat up, his breath coming in soft gasps as he wiped his face. It didn't make sense to me.
"Okay," he finally whispered. "Okay."
He coughed and cleared his throat, his fist bunching the fabric over his chest. He looked like a fragile mess, eventually turning toward the wall. After a few moments, he pointed toward the bathroom. "Where did you find that?"
"What?" I asked miserably.
"My letter."
I'd forgotten that I'd left it in pieces on the floor.
"I didn't go digging for it or anything. Doris found it and thought it was a mistake."
He twisted, eyeing me in what seemed like confusion. "What do you mean? She found it where?"
I knitted my eyebrows. "The trash. Where do you think?" His startled expression was confounding, so I sat up slowly and eyed him seriously. "You threw it out."
He shook his head. "No. No, I lost it. I looked everywhere. That's why my room was a wreck yesterday. How could you think I would throw—" Even more defeat eclipsed his expression and he took a shaky breath. "You don't trust me anymore, do you? Why should you after what I said?"
I didn't know what to say to that, but he continued, pressing his hand to his head. "I would never have thrown it away. I promise. But I don't blame you for tearing it. I don't blame you for not believing me either. None of this was your fault."
I squeezed my temples, too. It was amazing how every single part of me could hurt so badly. But all of that pain seemed doubled in each move Edward made, whether it was the slump of his shoulders or rubbing his eyes and hair. Our emotions hung heavy in the air around us like thick static. I was so confused—so much so that I started wondering if we were misunderstanding each other's intentions.
It took me a minute to work up the nerve to ask. "Are you here right now because you're leaving, but feel the need to mop up a mess first? Or are you here to try to fix things?" He'd said the word 'fix' earlier, hadn't he? "Just tell me the truth."
"I want to, yes," he said quickly. "Fix things. I want to try—I am trying. It's just—when you said you didn't want to end things on bad terms—" Comprehension became clear in his watery eyes. "You thought that's what I wanted."
I nodded, unsure. The knots in my stomach loosened a bit.
"Does that mean you're not leaving me?" he asked, his tone a combination of disbelief and hope.
My mouth dropped as I stared at him. I supposed my next words to him could have been reassuring, but those were eclipsed by unbridled anger. "Leave you?" I blurted. "Are you serious?"
From the look on his face, he clearly was. I pushed the covers off my legs and scrambled out of bed, enraged. "You told me to get out of your life! You implied that you were the one leaving! And you—"
Edward got up and reached for me, but I stepped back, wrenching away. "No! It's not fair—saying you're leaving every single time something goes wrong! Do you even understand how that feels? Because I feel like a piece of shit!"
He watched me sadly, looking as though he might turn to ash and crumble right before me.
"And you decided it so fast. Decided to leave, to not love me anymore. I've never seen you look like that. Your eyes were empty."
"I know what I said," he said huskily. "But I never stopped loving you."
"Bullshit!" I was so furious that I couldn't stop myself from shoving him back as he took a step toward me. "You couldn't have loved me, saying the things you did. That all I ever was to you was a distraction, that you only thought of me as something to busy your time with and that's it!"
By the look on his face, I almost expected to hear splintering and watch a crack form along the creases of his forehead, as if he could break into inconsolable pieces right in front of me. He sat back on the bed, looking distraught, but I couldn't stop.
"I'm so sorry," he said, his voice shredded.
"And you stopped believing that I loved you," I added, ignoring his apology. "That hurts the worst."
I turned away as I swiped my cheeks and nose. He tried again to reach for me, but I quickly took a step back and warned, "Don't."
He was quiet for a stretch, except for random sniffles as he collected himself.
"I never believed that you didn't love me," he finally said. "I just wasn't myself. I didn't even feel like me. It felt like I was watching everything instead of doing it. Old fears surface sometimes when I dream, and all I could think of was trying to get you away from me. It makes me sick knowing I said those things to you."
"You were thinking about it before we went to sleep," I reminded him. "You were pushing me away even then."
He rubbed under his eye, staring at the floor. "I just missed my mom."
It took a minute to let that sink in, suddenly painting the pain I felt in a very childish light.
"I didn't know what to say. I know I should have told you the truth instead of brushing you off, but you've put up with so much, I just thought it would be better to deal with it on my own," he continued. "I wasn't thinking about how much worse I was making things. And when you came in, I'd just torn my entire room apart looking for that letter and didn't want to admit that I couldn't find it. I was stupid and drunk and felt lost, and I was pitying myself. I wasn't even thinking about your feelings. And I can't explain how sorry I am for that."
I slowly moved a bit closer to him, breathing deeply. It was unnerving to feel vulnerable again without anger as a cover. "I should have given you space and just gone to my own room for the night."
He shook his head. "If it had been you, I wouldn't have left you alone either."
I glanced over at him, seeing the wounded look on his face. "You're allowed to miss your family and be angry or sad, you know. You shouldn't have to feel like you can't be. But you can't blame me for caring."
Edward nodded, his hands working against each other. "I know. I'm still learning how to deal with it. And I've never been in love before, so that makes it complicated."
In love? I narrowed my eyes.
"And I know that nightmares can't do anything except shake me up, but I've never done that before—gone after someone when I was awake. I could have hurt you. Really hurt you," he said, angling himself toward me.
"But you didn't."
"But I could have," he said again, his voice breaking. "I didn't have control of myself. I felt like I was being choked and I reacted. I didn't know it was you."
It felt strange to be having this conversation so many hours later, after all of the hurtful drama. "I know you didn't. But still," I said. "Afterwards, you were lucid and you still said everything."
"I was scared," he admitted softly. "I was thinking that I didn't want to ever put you in that situation again, and I was scared that I'd damaged everything anyway by doing so. I can't stand the thought of you being nervous around me, like I might hurt you." He took a deep breath. "But you were right. I was doing better—feeling so much better. These dreams, though—they make me forget everything I've worked through. It feels unbearable at the time, but it passes. I know that now."
It was cathartic to hear him be so honest. I knew baring his insecurities was never easy for him.
"It's just—you're all I have." He paused, raking his hand through his hair and frowning. "Sometimes I feel like I'm not good enough for you. I want to be, but I'm afraid that one day you might decide you deserve better—someone with fewer issues. Or maybe I'll finally scare you away for good. And the thought of it kills me, so after what happened, I tried to hurt you before you could hurt me."
Unable to stand it any longer, I reached for his hand. His breath caught as I did so and his eyes filled with more tears.
"It was on purpose," he continued, looking up at me contritely. "I said those things because I knew they were unforgivable—because I wanted to end it before you could. I was worried that you wouldn't believe me, but then you did—and I was okay with it for a few minutes. But then—"
Something clicked as we studied each other, and suddenly I understood why he had pushed so hard, as if he'd let me feel it through my own mind. He'd told me in the beginning that he never believed he deserved anything good—sacrificing his happiness with me was not only a defense, but in his mind, he believed it was the best thing for me in the end. We'd been there before, and it was still untrue.
Stepping to his side, I wrapped my arms around him in a gentle hug, pressing my face to his chest. He leaned down and hugged me back, holding me so tightly that my shoulder blades ached.
I took a breath, speaking against his cheek. "I don't want anyone but you. To hear that you don't believe that hurts so much."
He breathed next to my hair, sounding choked as he said, "I'm sorry. I can't believe I was stupid enough to make you lose your trust in me. I know just saying it isn't enough to convince you, but I'm so sorry."
"It's okay," I said, feeling his lips close to my ear. I realized that I had already forgiven him moments earlier.
"By the way, you're the only one I've ever been in love with, too," I confessed, finding the words sweet on my tongue. "And by now I thought you would have realized that you've ruined all other men for me. If you ever leave, I'm going to end up with a bunch of dogs."
The sound of his laugh, though tired, was the antidote I needed to stop my chest from aching. He loosened his hold on me and smoothed my hair, cupping my face. "My letter. Before you tore it, did you happen to see what I wrote?"
I twisted in his arms, regretfully glancing at the pile of torn paper. The 'Devotion' poem. I'd only been mentally reciting it all night.
"Actually, I saw that a few weeks ago. The night I left. I peeked."
He pulled back, giving me a curious gaze. "You've known since then?" I shrugged sheepishly. "Well, that's how it feels. It's how I felt then… it's how I feel now. The feeling of moving, living—of loving you. Always. No matter where I am, no matter what I say. I promise."
I ran my hands up his arms and to his cheeks, bringing him close. "I love you, too."
He lifted me in a swift, fluid motion and I wrapped my legs around his waist, always fond of being eye-level with him. And mouth-level. I kissed him like I hadn't done so in months, a toss between fierce and thankful, and he took my lips in welcome. I couldn't believe I had allowed myself to think I'd never be here again; there was simply no other place in which I belonged.
When he gently sat me on the bed I expected him to join me, but he knelt at the base and pressed his head to my knees. I played with his hair and stroked the back of his neck, letting him have a few moments. "We're better together," I said after a while. "Aren't we?"
Edward's hands ran smoothly up my thighs and he lifted his head, taking my hands in his and kissing my knuckles. He only nodded, his eyes once again wet and penitent. "Will you forgive me?"
He had a snug grip on my hands so I used my legs to hug him, enfolding them behind his back. "Yes. And I'm sorry, too. Do you forgive me?"
"For?"
I twisted my lips. "For hitting you. For all of what I said before I left. Motor vehicle theft."
"I deserved all of that." As my hands tightened around his and my eyebrows furrowed, he cracked a hint of a grin. "But yes. Of course, I forgive you."
Even though he was finally smiling, one tiny bead of a tear gathered in the corner of his eye, ready to fall. I pulled my hands from his to run my thumbs under his eyelashes. "I hate to say this, but… your eyes are beautiful when you cry. I never noticed how much blue hides inside the green."
"Leave it to you to compliment me when I look like complete shit," Edward answered, laughing softly.
"You only look exhausted."
"I have the worst hangover. I'm surprised I still look human."
"Oh geez," I said, smoothing his hair. "Did you get any sleep?"
"Maybe twenty minutes. I drifted off in an auto repair shop." At my puzzled expression, he explained, "Your truck hates me. I think it knew what I'd done and wanted revenge. It got a flat, which I fixed, then the heat quit, then it started smoking a little. You were in desperate need of an oil change."
I ran my hand over my eyes. "Crap. I meant to do that last week."
"Well, one less thing to worry about," he said. "Lucky for me, one of the mechanics was hanging around and opened up the shop early. Unfortunately, the heater core was leaking and the carburetor was almost shot. I had to leave it to get replacements, otherwise, I probably would still be waiting."
"You walked here?" Never mind how expensive this was all sounding.
He shrugged, resting his head on my legs again. "It was only a few minutes down the road. She said it would be ready tomorrow morning."
"She? Oooh," I teased. I could see a faint line of a smile on his face, and even after it faded, he didn't move. "Are you going to sleep like this?"
"I could."
"Doesn't bed sound better?"
"It does."
He remained still and I trailed my fingers through the shorter hairs at the base of his neck. "Did you hydrate yet?"
"I drank a Gatorade at the auto shop," he mumbled into my legs, yawning. "God, I'm so tired, I'm almost not. Anymore. Tired, I mean."
I tried not to laugh. I failed.
"Let's sleep, then," I said, tugging his arms and pulling him to his feet. I closed the curtains, leaving us in semi-darkness, and we both crawled back into bed and bundled ourselves under the blanket. He took me in his arms and his warmth poured into me like drugs into a vein.
"Where were you all night?" he asked after a few moments, kissing my forehead. "I was so worried about you."
"I'll tell you later when we're not about to pass out." As I rubbed his back, my wrist felt awfully sore, undoubtedly bruised from James' harsh grip. I wasn't going to keep my whereabouts a secret, but I didn't want to bring everything up while Edward and I were so close, so content. I would tell him when we woke. Right now, we needed a break—to hold each other, to sleep, to dream of nothing.
"Bella?"
"Hmm?"
"Just so you know—" He breathed the words into my neck. "I'll love you for the rest of my life."
Or maybe dream of just that.
-:-
