..::.. Chapter 6 - A Trigger ..::..
I look at the clock. It's three a.m.
I'm up. I pull back the lace curtains and I'm standing in plain view. I'm pissed. Where is this ridiculous light coming from? I'm sick of his crazy spells.
I squint at the light and then it goes out. I push the window open and lean out. "Hey, asshole!" I shout. "Do you mind?" Then the back door to the yard swings open. Edward comes running out. The street light catches that sharp knife in his hand. He hides. He rips a line from his robe. He wraps it tight around that balled fist. And I know, it's to keep it secure when he's ready to swing.
He looks up at me. I slowly see his index finger come up to his lips.
My stomach seems to curl into itself. I look back at the window adjacent to mine.
One pop. Two.
The window shatters above me. I fall into my room and slam my back to the wall. Oh, God…
My ears swish and swish. I hear nothing but my panting and feel glass bits under my palms. Everything goes quiet.
I think, I think.
Everything Charlie has told me floods in. "Something happens, find that Glock in the hallway." Was he preparing me for something like this? I crawl frantically there. Where the fuck is it? I tear down everything in there. Nothing.
A loud noise drifts from outside. I crouch and look out a smaller window. I gasp.
Edward's chest is bare, glistening. His boxers are streaked with crimson red. He holds up a thin metal sheet and he launches it down onto a neck. The black clothed man's body flinches on the ground, then stops moving.
A second figure staggers to his feet. The knife and piece of plaid robe hangs from the man's torso. He pulls it out. The growl pushing out of him is furious and loud. He skillfully flips the knife and catches it for a better grip. He swings at Edward's chest but he dives out of reach. He kicks at the ground and catches whatever is in flight.
I start. The pop of the gun firing is loud. He empties the barrel on that one alone.
I run down the stairs. I lock the bolt to the door. Charlie's badgering floods my ears. Stupid. I go for the windows and check every lock on those. I run to check the kitchen door. I see Edward hop over my fence through my kitchen window.
There are more out there and they come to kill.
I let out a cry. The depths of me empty out in a smothered shrill. A firm, dry knuckled hand presses to my lips.
"Hello, Bella. It sure has been a while," he says. My ear feels the warm, words so close.
I grip the hand that holds my screams at bay. Those smooth, neat nail beds are rough and bloody now. I breathe and breathe.
Edward Cullen Jr. has finally come to kill me.
He tosses a key onto the kitchen island. The worn sticker on it reads "Swan."
"Can I let go now?" he whispers. I shuffle my feet. My locked knees find their strength. I perch myself against his firm chest. No struggle in his lungs pressed to my backbone. He's calm. I nod. He lets go.
His free hand is curled around my back. His other wiggles its fingers with a "Hello." He smiles, but it just makes him look deranged.
"If I told you to run and hide, would you do it?" he asks easy. His eyes take me in, capturing my full attention. I don't speak. "Well," he says, "If you don't, you might not be alive in about... hm, ten seconds. I don't think you'll be okay with that." He shakes his head with the tease.
He moves and with every step, I'm pulled, too. His gaze never leaves mine, but he reaches behind the cabinet by the fridge. A chrome gun appears in his hand. He wraps his arms around me and cocks the barrel in two hands.
"So… are you ready?" His brows lift. "I've seen you run, you'll do just fine." A few of his fingers skim over my cheek, down to my neck. He pulls on stray locks of hair and tuck them back.
The moonlight dims from the windows as shadows are cast from movement outside. Time is running out. I nod. He grins.
"Go, hide behind the stairs." He tilts his head.
I run. I cover my ears and crouch. Pull after pull of gunshots take over the kitchen. There's a mirror. I watch him hide behind a wall and shoot around it. Windows shatter everywhere.
"Don't worry. I'll get Charlie new ones," he says from where he stands. He pulls the magazine out, no bullets. He charges behind the couch empty handed. The plush cushions split. Filler spills out from every bullet hole. He shoots back with a shotgun now.
Where the hell did he get that?
"I'll get a couch, too!" he yells. He shoots and shoots. Then I realize, this house is his den, full of hidden weapons at his disposal. I'm just in the middle of it.
Tears spill down my cheeks. This man is insane. It's true. All of it. I'm going to die here with him.
He pulls me to my feet. "Come. You need a gun." The latch to the basement door is locked. One swing of the rifle and it breaks. The stairs going down lead to pitch darkness. My cheek is pressed to his shoulder blade. Yesterday, I was having a cocktail. Yesterday I was complaining about my uneventful life. Here I am, with a mob boss' back muscles as my guide.
The light flickers on and then I'm huffing and puffing, turning in circles.
"What the fuck?!" I go berserk this time. My hands claw the air. He's already pulling on a bulletproof vest off a weapon infested shelf. Glocks, semi-automatics, knives, and ammo line up on a wall. I've never been down here. I never knew Charlie allowed this.
All the lying men in my life.
"Who the hell are you?" I seethe.
He shakes his head as he pulls up a pair of dark pants, tennis shoes next. "I know, I know. What matters is, Charlie is good. Pure. We owe him." I stare at him. He stuffs twin guns behind his back like that right there wasn't just batshit. "I'll let you break my nose later. Free swings, no charge." He refers to the blows to Riley's face. And maybe it's been him all along.
He takes me to the far corner of the basement. He pulls a latch and bangs a door open. This side of the house is vacant. Weeds sprout high. A fence blocks a path to a main street.
He pulls a sweater over my nightdress from... somewhere. The street light is dim at the threshold. I see his eyes. His hands on my arms pull me close.
"Is this the worst time to kiss you?" he asks. I'm speechless. Am I supposed to answer that? He dips his head. He almost does, but he looks torn. "I'll make it up to you. I'll never let them near you again. I'll play a homeless man. I'll be a mental patient if that's what it takes. You and me this time, far away, anywhere you want."
My brows knit. "And what makes you think I'd go anywhere with you?" I spit. This crazy man.
A faint smirk plays at his lips. "You love me. You always have. Remember you told me? I meant to say it back."
The feeling from my limbs seems to dissipate. I stare. I utter no words. "Of course you don't," he murmurs in somewhat understanding. He lets go.
He slips a gun in my hand. I grip it hard. It feels right.
"Go. Don't stop running. Call Charlie. He knows everything." I look at the gun. I look at him. He crashes his lips to mine anyway. Weakness crawls to my knees. He pushes me out the door and I'm supposed to use these legs now.
I'm far. The night is still and asleep—except for those popping sounds I leave behind. I run and run in my bare feet. Then, I stop. Dead still.
I turn in circles. I stare at the rose bushes lining the path. I stare at the dark sky above. I stare and I stare until everything morphs into memories.
Mom died in my arms under these stars. The car swerved into a rose bush. Thorns tore at my legs. It was one shot to the back wheel, that's all it took. Then, there were more. These bullet-size scars at my ribs and my neck have to mean something. The only proof left.
I left this town, not because I was young and curious—I was young and broken. I was forced to forget, to heal from deep wounds.
What was it? God, what was it? I tap, tap, tap this metal against my foggy brain. This nostalgia at the tip of my tongue—ready to tell me everything I used to know.
Edward. His bare chest against mine, our first time. Those sharp green eyes, teaching me everything he had to learn for himself. Too young for such anger. No, he was never the same after his father was dragged dead.
You fall for a Cullen man, you're walking dead. His lifestyle. His family. His business. It all becomes yours. He said, "Don't leave." I wanted a simple life, not watching one slip away from my arms. He said, "I'll go where you go." I ripped myself out of his life. I took Mom with me. Eighteen shouldn't be the ripe age to use a gun on a man. I killed him. I killed that stranger by the red rose bushes. Then, everything went black.
I cock this gun because I remember how. I turn right back. I was his right hand girl and he was all mine. Yes, I remember everything.
So, I run. Like hell.
...