Weird aside I never considered: does this need a glossary for the slang? I feel like they make sense in context but I'm also pretty close with two of my older nieces so maybe I'm desensitized, RIP
Look at you needing me
You know I'm not your friend without some greenery
Walk in wearing fetters
Peter should know better
We were at the entrance for Pier 57, which was barricaded against entry, shutters firmly locked in place. That is, of course, if you weren't a vampire and couldn't just jump over or snap the lock like we could. Instead of heading in, though, he jerked his head further down the street, waiting for me to walk with him. God, he was so weird - what was the point in having the car drop us off just so we could walk?
Reluctantly I trailed along just behind him, repulsed by the idea of walking next to him and giving any passerby the impression that we were together. Ick. The man should feel lucky he couldn't read my mind, or he'd melt from all the acidic virulence.
For 12 minutes we walked briskly, still heading south, him in front and me following like I were on a leash about five feet behind. Finally he turned and headed toward Pier 45. There wasn't anything really interesting here, just a boardwalk and some grass on it's own little peninsula. He was still walking, though, right down the glorified dock, so I didn't have much choice but to follow.
We just kept walking, passing the grass and pavilion, before he approached the railing and leaned against it over the water. It was only 10:46pm according to my watch. Boats were trolling along, a strange mixture of party barges, yachts, and smaller boats just enjoying the summer night. Outside the ambient noise, though, it was more or less silent - he wasn't speaking, and I wasn't about to proffer anything voluntarily.
After ten minutes of him just watching the aquatic scenery, I finally got sick of standing there by myself, looking like an idiot. I joined him at the rail, still keeping a five foot buffer between us. The sensation of standing there, no words or looks passing between us, felt like riding a maximum frequency wavelength. Every time I thought he was going to say something, or look at me, the wave peaked. Then he didn't, leaving me to ride the flow of anticipation down before it built back up again.
I wasn't nervous, or whatever, but clearly he'd brought me here for a reason and I was eager to just get on with it. I keep checking my watch, silently telling him he was wasting time. Flicking my wrist up for the third time seemed to enliven him - and about fucking time - since we'd been just standing in complete silence for over 30 minutes at that point.
"If I ask you something, will you promise not to take my head off?"
The way he said it made it sound suspiciously like he knew that was exactly the kind of behavior I used to be predisposed to. I wondered who'd been chatting shit for a second, but it was just as likely he'd drawn the conclusion on his own. I hadn't exactly been a meek little mouse every time we'd met so far.
I scoffed in a huff, offended. "I will make no such promises. Either the question is worth your head, or it isn't." Maybe that'd make him shut the hell up.
A laugh bubbled up from his mouth, making me side-eye him. Maybe he was mentally unstable, because I didn't find it that funny. Or funny at all, really, considering I was about as serious as a heart attack.
"How old are you?"
Well, that could mean anything. How old was my body, or how long had I been alive? And why the hell did he want to know? Was it because I acted like I was born a posh elite millennial, or because of my reaction to the question? Plus, that was such a faux pas, asking a woman how old she was.
"Twenty three." Just keep it short and sweet. Anything more than was absolutely necessary would give him the wrong idea - like I liked him. Just, no.
He shook his head, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. "I guess that's better than being decapitated. Not exactly what I meant, though. My apologies - I'll be more specific. What year were you born, as a human?"
"1747. I was born in Boston." It's not like it was top-secret information or anything. Carlisle was older than me, anyway.
Still, the look he gave me was like I'd grown two heads, so I rolled my eyes. "What, did you think I was just changed last year or something?"
"No, it's just... I had a hunch you were older than I thought, but not by quite so much. No offense, truly. It's just very interesting. You lived through the American Revolution?"
Jesus, when he put it like that I sounded practically fucking decrepit. "I guess so. I was still very newborn through the start, but we were out west when the Declaration was signed. Less people. Shit was way simpler back then."
I had added in bit of extra information, hoping it'd get him off my back if I pretended like I was trying. It seemed to work, because the questions stopped for a while after that. We just stood there, together yet apart, watching boats, not really bothering to breathe in any human capacity since it was pointless to try and pretend at the moment.
It seemed like he was trying to get to know me on a genuine level, but I wouldn't be charmed so easily. What I couldn't figure out was why. He didn't have to walk up to me at the bar, didn't have to try to make some tacky opening line. Even after we'd been introduced at the house, he could've just said, 'Thanks, no thanks,' and walked way.
"What are you doing?" I asked. Having said it, I guess it was kind of vague, but details schmetails. Either he understood or he didn't.
Barely turning his head, he shot me a look of mild amusement like I was just playing hard to get and it was cute or something. "I assume you don't necessarily mean right this second, so could you elaborate on that, please?"
I rolled my eyes since he obviously knew what I was actually asking. The fact he was even trying to finesse me was so sad. I turned my body to face him full-on, locking my eyes onto his.
"You know what I mean, so let's be clear on a few key points. One, don't play stupid. I'm a spoiled princess, not fucking Rain Man. Two, I know this might come as a shock, but I don't like you. As in, no cap. Three, I may be older than America, but I left arranged marriages back in 1950. If you're doing all of this-" My hands waved around in front of me, like I could encapsulate the situation so cleanly, "Because you're being forced to, stop."
During my tirade he had moved away from the rail, angling himself the rest of the way so we faced each other squarely. His jaw was set and tense, like he was annoyed with me. His eyes, though, were lit up in amusement. I've said it once, and I'll say it again - Edward Masen was fucking weird. The reactions just didn't make any sense.
"I'm not being forced into anything, Isabella. Marcus couldn't care less about who I tie myself to. I'm also quite aware you detest me, and for good reason - I have not been on my best behavior towards you. Which brings me to apparently treating you like some kind of savant: I do genuinely want to get to know you, but it's precisely because you don't like me I find it necessary to extract information from you in less direct methods. I'm walking on eggshells to make sure I don't say anything else obtuse or insensitive."
My lungs expanded, filled as far as I possibly could, before I blew the breath out slowly. Him admitting he'd treated me like shit was nice, but it had still been his first instinct to insult. He'd need to do better than one measly acknowledgement. Not that I'd tell him that, though - if he wanted to know me so bad, I was most definitely going to make him work for it.
"If you actually want to get to know me, then don't beat around the fucking bush. Just say what you mean. I do not have the patience for mindfucks." I brought my watch up again - just past midnight. "You have the next two minutes to ask me whatever you want, and I won't be a bitch. Then I'm going home. Take it or leave it."
He didn't hesitate - he certainly was tenacious. "What happened to you in the past?"
The laugh that escaped my lips was humorless and short. "I could fill several Boeings with that baggage. Are you sure you want to waste time on that?"
Consideration darkened his eyes for a moment, like I'd revealed one of life's great mysteries. "Fine. Another time. Tell me about the shirt you were wearing."
Well that wasn't a completely random thing to fixate on - he'd even commented on it at the gala. But a deal's a deal. "It was the shirt I was wearing the first time I got accepted into college."
Technically it was an answer, and not even a lie. I just had a feeling he'd want more, and Edward didn't disappoint.
"Why was that a big deal..?" I guess he didn't mean it rudely, but I still stiffened at the unsaid insinuation, like somehow it was a surprise I'd even went to school. 68 seconds left.
"It was Harvard. The rest is more baggage. Anything else?" Honestly, Carlisle had thought I'd never be able to really calm down enough to be around humans. I just hated them too much. The day I got my acceptance letter was huge for him, because it meant I'd arrived. Not batshit crazy anymore. If he could've cried, I think he would have, so the moment really stuck with me.
He paused, the look in his eyes screaming I am trying to read your mind. He needed to take the L. Seriously, it wasn't happening.
"Can I have more time?" Interesting, only because he was chasing me like a dog chases cars. It was only because he couldn't have what he wanted. The second he got it, I'd be yesterday's news. It was odd I was perversely stringing him along even though I knew this; must've be the vindictive tendencies.
"Didn't I tell you about trying to play coy?" My arms were crossed now. I really needed more time away from playing Rich Bitch Barbie: the mannerisms were getting to be like second nature. 11 seconds.
"I'm not being coy. I want more minutes, whenever. It doesn't have to be now." Time was up. I spun around, walking away from him to the far side of the pier. How much of a taste to give, that was the question.
I may not have hated him per se, not anymore since he'd owned - ish - being an asshole. But still, I really didn't care for his presumption, like grabbing me and buying my auction date. Only a morsel, then.
"Fine." The way his face lit up you'd think I'd given him a million bucks. Pathetic. "Esme has your number. I'll have her text you when I feel up to it."
Disappointment replaced the eager happiness, giving me a sense of smug satisfaction. It was obvious what he was let down about. "Rule number one: say what you mean and mean what you say. You didn't ask for my phone number and your time's up. Later, Masen."
I was already striding back down the pier toward the city. It was really, really tempting to look back and see what kind of expression he wore, but I wasn't a goldfish. Sharks didn't fall for basic ass bait like that.
I only waggled my fingers over my shoulder as I was calling for an Uber, then thought better of it. Tonight was actually a great night for some superhero shit.
