..::.. Chapter 35 - Life's too short ..::..

Young - High school, continued ...

He holds my hand now, everywhere we go. There's no secret in school, not that there was, but he wasn't showing it. He kept himself on his side, and I was on mine. Now he finds me in the hallways or waits for me after class and grabs on. I'm escorted to lunch as everyone passes by and watches, eyes full with questions.

In the morning, he waits for me up front by his car. That was the shift. That was how he cut the radio silence between us. He opens the passenger door as I step out of the front door and waits for me to hop in. Not without a lingering morning kiss.

I could feel Mom's anguish from the kitchen window.

Then there was that time, the first time lunch came around, and he pulled me through the doors. I swear I heard the loud murmur of a full lunchroom suddenly going quiet when he kissed me. He was thorough, I was flickering lids, fully aware everyone was watching. Vick included. She stared up from her seat, sharp jaw.

I let my shoulders relax and closed my eyes.

When he pulled away, I cupped his chin. "What's all this? What are you getting at?"

He smirked slightly.

"Life's too short," he said with a peck on my lips.

I watched him go to his side of the room, knowing this was his way to cope—on account of me; the introvert hating center stage.

I hoped it would pass. But the hovering became overbearing. He was there all the time.

He'd knock on our door. Dad would always open, and he'd politely ask for me. I was pulled out by the hand, no jacket, not even prepared, and he'd help me in the back of a car to get food because he was hungry. I was in the middle of homework and the dishes.

Mom waited up for me and glared the entire way I went upstairs to my room. I didn't know what to do.

I'm here now, in my bed, my PJs on and staring up at my ceiling. No, I'm not alone. Edward managed to get through the front door, up the stairs, and into my room while Mom was still in the kitchen. The way he did that day he killed Joe.

He lies face down, sans shirt and shoes, over my pillow. He stripped them off the moment he came in. Not even a hello when he did. The covers were pulled down, and he crawled in. His lips touched my arm before he drifted off.

He sleeps. I don't. My nerves are spiked wondering when Mom will shimmy the knob and walk in to see this.

This is a phase, I tell myself.

Just a phase.

Morning comes. I slap the alarm clock before it even goes off. My eyes are burning. I awake, and he's curled around me. The heat coming off him has me with beads of sweat down my neck. I peel his arms away, his face off my tit. I shower and sneak back into my room hoping to God, Mom doesn't wake. Dad's already at work, and I breathe relief over that.

The only slight noises are the creaky wooden floors as I walk around. I'm in a towel and maneuvering some underwear underneath it. He silently watches me from the bed. He slowly blinks awake and leisurely rests his head on his hands. The covers sprawled around his legs. His abs ripple as he breathes and scratches his unruly hair.

His eyes flutter at my bare chest through the mirror. I ignore him as my jaw sharpens. I don't know why I'm angry. I've dreamed of waking up beside him and just having a lazy morning in my room. Now I'm sailing around it and my vanity to moisturize, powder, and grab clothes from the closet.

I hook on a bra, then my jeans, and he watches.

His hips buck slightly, his pants low to his hips, and he's hard, peeking up from his waistband.

I'm not turning around to face that. Not today, not any time soon.

We haven't touched that way. Not the intense way we do and get carried away. Not since that day with Alice by the stairs, when she pushed me down them.

It's unspoken, but he knows it's not yet an option. It doesn't mean he doesn't try. I'm yanked as I'm walking by. I'm spread over him. I sigh, and I can't look into his eyes.

He wordlessly pulls on the hip of my jeans and looks at the yellowing skin where the dark bruise used to be. He rubs a hand there, up my back, and over the bra hook.

"Don't," I say through my teeth as he works it. He wraps his arms around me instead.

"So good," he whispers, nose buried in my neck. I seethe. "What's wrong, baby?" he asks, muffled.

"What's wrong?" I say exasperated. I flail a hand around me as he waits. "This! You!"

He watches blankly.

I go off.

"What the fuck are you doing coming in here? You're doing this now, right under their noses?" I point at my door. "You take me out at night without even asking me, you kiss me in front of everyone in school, you follow me, you do God knows what to guys at bars who just talk to me?!"

He stares.

"You're insane! That's what's wrong!" I howl.

I pull away from him and scramble to stand.

"You know, I was worried. I worried to death when you suddenly left. You tell me nothing, and I'm sitting here wondering like an idiot. I get it. You're sad she died. I get you're devastated and feel … lost," I say standing after slipping on socks.

"But you can't just come in here. You can't barge in like you own this place and do what you want!"

I push a T-shirt on and angrily brush out the knots in my hair.

"And the following, the shadowing? I can't fucking take it! Not everything is a fucking conspiracy with me. You're not the CIA!"

"Not a bad idea. I could hire one," he says with wonder.

I growl. My brush goes crashing on my vanity.

"Get out," I say.

He sighs and sits up. "Baby …"

I point at him. "Don't you dare even try it!" I interrupt. "You know what? Stay. Have your breakfast. You know where everything is. My house, your house. Do what you want. You do it anyway." I grab my jacket and backpack and open my bedroom door. "You can explain to my mother yourself why your ass is in this house!"

I stomp down the stairs, and Mom is already there by the railing staring up, hand on a hip.

"Bella!" he shouts. He takes two steps at a time after me.

Mom moves in front of him and crosses her arms. He tries to go around her, but she advances.

He lifts a hand. "Ma'am, I mean no disrespect, even my presence here, but I'd care for you to step aside. This is not about you."

"You could be the Prince of Persia or the fucking president of the United States, whoever the hell you think you are, but in my house, you're nothing but in my way and most certainly unwelcome."

He looks over her, toward me. "You have no idea who I need to push out of the way to keep you safe. That's why I do it. You need to understand …"

Mom pushes at his bare chest when he takes a step. His back hits the wall by the stairs, the same one she pushed me against once. And I regret this. This is what she meant. I'm horrified. I could scream and cry.

He shows his palms. "Ma'am, please," he says with suppressed anger.

"You stay right where I can see you."

"Mom, leave it. It's not worth it." Fear crawls up my gut. This is too much.

He takes a breath and calmly speaks. "You have no idea what I have to do to keep all of you safe. Your little house," he says waving a hand. "Your car, your husband, all of it," he says to Mom. "You know this," he says pointedly.

"You have nothing to do with us!" she yells.

He nods. "Yes. You know this very well, Renee."

The slap is hard and loud. His face turns with the blow. She hits him again. And he stands there and takes it. "You little shit!" she spits. He doesn't say a word, but he smolders.

My jaw drops and I've never seen her this way, never have I been behind a blow like she delivered. I'm all balled fists, mortified. She pushes and pushes him. He just stares at her in complete submission, squared shoulders and unwavering.

"I would like to drive your daughter to school. Please, let me do that," he says. Blood slowly pebbles at his lip.

"The hell you will!" she yells. She pushes at him when he dares to move.

"I'm leaving," I say, grabbing the door.

He shakes his head, eyes dark through his lashes. "Not without me."

"Edward, stop this," I beg. "I just need one day of peace. That's all I'm asking."

"You know I can't do that," he replies.

Mom pushes him again. His patience is wavering, but he stands still.

"Mom, please! I'm sorry. Just let it go." I dare to pull on her shoulder, but she's raging.

"You think you own us? You think you can do whatever the hell you want? Well, you got something coming. You mess with my daughter, you mess with me!"

I pull and pull her as she pushes and pushes him.

"You don't know who I am!" she shouts. "I'll tear you limb from limb with my bare hands, you child! A fucking child! Your mother gone, died of a broken heart, and look at you. You should be ashamed!"

He sidesteps her. His eyes downcast at her words. All he does is lift a hand toward me to take.

Mom slaps it away.

"That poor woman," she says. "You all killed her!"

"Mom." I cry. I hold my ears shut. I scramble to her side not knowing what to do. I hold her arms, and she pushes me away.

"Don't you dare hold me back. I'm gonna kill this motherfucker today!"

I sob over my knuckles ... I created this.

"You don't know me. You don't know who I am!" She jabs at his chest. His jaw is sharp to cut. "I have ways inside that house of yours. I've planned it for years. That's what I've got—years! You've got nothing but your arrogance, barely coming out of diapers. I watched your mother bathe you! I could kill you in your sleep, that's how much I know you. Don't think I haven't planned it all! And when I do, I'll find every last living relative of yours and kill them all!" She enunciates.

And right by the kitchen, behind a cupboard, she pulls out a gun I never knew she hid there. My stomach plummets. Blood seems to drain out of me.

Edward's eyes go sharp.

I grab his hand and pull. His focus now is that metal.

"Mom, please!" I step between them. Edward is motionless now.

"Do it," he says suddenly. His chest rises and falls, but his eyes are determined, shadowed. "Take me out of my misery," he says. His throat bobs, he stands, arms slightly spread as he beckons.

I look up at him, baffled. He's honest.

That makes her hesitate. She, too, stares into his serious eyes.

"It would be perfect," he whispers to himself.

"No! Let's go. Take me to school. Come on," I plead. I grab his stuff by the stairs and push him out the door.

He staggers over the threshold, and still, he watches her. This is a game between them now, and he seems to want it, beg for it.

He leans toward her from above me. "That's it, isn't it?" he says. "My mother told you something once. I know she did. So do it, Renee. Finish it," he challenges. Her hand trembles around the gun.

Just then, Uncle Jasper steps out of a car across the lawn. He watches the scuffle; Mom pointing a gun at his half-dressed nephew.

He runs.

"Fuck." I cry. More added to this madness.

I pull and pull on Edward, but he's dead weight. He begs and begs for her to do it.

"Pull the trigger," he instigates.

Jasper steps between them.

"What did you do?" he howls at Edward. He turns to Mom. "What did the boy do? I'll set him straight for you, Renee. Tell me." He tries to reason with her.

The moment she sees him her eyes darken. He catches her arm and curls his own around her robe. He talks in her ear and tears fall down her cheeks.

"Think of Elizabeth. She wouldn't want this," he says. "She'd want you to watch her boy while she's gone. She'd want you to keep him safe, wouldn't she?"

"This boy is nothing but a disease! I'll kill him, I'll kill him if he doesn't get off my lawn!" she answers.

"You heard her, get off her lawn!" Jasper growls waving an arm. "Go!" He grabs hold of her trembling, suspended hand, gun in the air. He sides with her, breathing calming words in her ear.

Edward is silent now. I barely get him down the steps to the sidewalk, and he stumbles as he keeps his eyes on her.

I push him into the back seat of the car Jasper hopped out of. The driver is still behind the wheel. We speed off. I leave my mother behind, still in Jasper's arms.

…..