July 2011
Twenty-One / Twenty-Four
She did not want to be that girlfriend, but –
"Edward?" she asked that same day, a whine in her voice. "Can you get us out of dinner?"
Edward turned on his swivel desk chair. The two of them had spent the entire day locked up in his room – just being together. Battling a bad round of exhaustion, Isabella had spent every second of the afternoon napping on his bed. Edward, presumably, had spent five hours glued to his desk and hunched over a textbook.
Edward looked at her suspiciously. "What d'you mean? What do you want me to do, exactly?" He sounded faintly annoyed and unconvinced, as if Isabella had gone crazy, but as if he was resigned to obeying – the first instance of a tone Isabella would hear from him for the rest of her life.
"I don't know," Bella said, sitting up. "Just – I don't know. Just tell people we are heading into town for sushi."
"Sweetheart, there's no sushi in a 60-mile radius. And I'm not having surimi sticks at a gas station. That's fucking wretched."
Giggling, Isabella angled her wheelchair closer to the bed. She was so tired, and her legs were still sore from the night before. It was akin to pain she felt after physiotherapy – a kind of soreness that was not entirely unpleasant. Swiftly, she transferred her body from the bed to the wheelchair, setting off a tremor in her right leg. Edward wasn't necessarily gawking, but Isabella still felt embarrassed. Transferring to her wheelchair felt more intimate than stripping off her top these days.
"I just – I'm – I don't want to sit at dinner with your Dad now that he knows," she admitted blushingly, wheeling closer.
"So, you won't sit next to my father ever again?" Edward raised an eyebrow teasingly, lips crooking into a grin.
"I – I just – it's going to be so awkward," Bella said whinily. "Everybody knows we're – and I – "
"Sweetheart, everybody fucks. Every single soul. You just know it on some level, and you move on," Edward explained casually. "Even Bruno fucks."
Despite herself, Bella laughed.
"Edward."
"If you insist, I'll go tell them we're going into Portland for – I don't know, pizza or whatever," Edward huffed irritably. "Well, I'll tell my Dad. Esme's technically giving us the silent treatment. But I think we should just suck it up, Bella."
"It's going to be awkward and tense."
"As opposed to … what? Are you new to this family or…?"
Laughingly, she tilted her head for a soft kiss.
Before dinner, Isabella suggested they finish watching Rome. They settled on the huge Victoria-tufted couch. Edward opened up his thighs in an invitation, but Bella wordlessly shook her head. It struck her as too crass a public display of affection in broad daylight - especially in his father's house. Instead, she curled up on top of him, placing her cheek against his chest.
"You know what cracks me up?" Edward grinned midway through an episode, twirling a lock of her hair.
"Homer Simpson?" She shifted so that her chin was on his sternum. Her doe eyes were bright.
"Fuck, yeah," Edward smirked. "But I mean you. It's fucking hilarious that we just saw someone's thumbs be cut off and you just got a teensy bit squeamish. But a penguin dies of natural causes and you fucking sob."
Playfully, Isabella wrinkled her nose and stuck out the tip of her tongue."Penguins are adorable," Isabella informed him petulantly. "Penguins are monogamists, you know."
Making her squeal, he lifted her by the waist so that they were almost face-to-face. Tenderly, he kissed the tip of her nose. "You're too fucking cute sometimes."
"I know," Isabella smirked.
"You're supposed to say I'm cute, too."
"You're adorable," Bella said indulgently, but then felt compelled to add, "Some of the time."
Underneath her, he shook with laughter – warm and rich – and Isabella loved the sound.
Footsteps ruined their moment. Isabella buried her face into his neck, burrowing as if to hide. Carlisle cleared his throat. "Kids! Dinner is almost ready. Son? Could you come help in the kitchen?"
"Dear fucking sweet heavingly lord," Edward grumbled, and Isabella giggled. "Holy Jesus."
Ever gently, Edward shifted her off him. She was left blushing, burrowing into the couch, mustering the courage to face the music. Sighing, she shifted her body so that she was seated. Then, pressing down on the sturdy armrest of the couch, she pushed up into a standing position. She grasped her crutches and threaded her arms through the handles. Click, click, drag, thump. Without the braces, she made it unsteadily to the dining room and found it empty.
"We're having dinner in the kitchen, love," Edward informed her quickly, peeking his head through the door of the servants' corridor.
"Like healthy normal fucking people," he muttered under his breath, and Bella giggled.
Uncertainly, she slipped into one of the chairs on the kitchen table, neatly arranging her crutches so that they leaned against the wall. Out of habit, Edward pushed her chair in: she didn't have the strength or coordination to do it herself.
Carlisle came up to the table, holding a platter of cucumber salad. Isabella could not meet his gaze. She focused on the button missing on his well-worn shirt.
"Hi, sweetheart," Carlisle greeted her, very pointedly. His voice was warm but serious. Isabella was staring intently at the swirling patterns on the plates.
"Hi, Un -" she managed to squeak shyly, with a small smile. Without fully meeting his gaze, she peeked at him through her long eyelashes. It was a flash in the pan – a split-second gesture so fast that she barely registered his expression.
"Hi, Uncle Carlisle," Carlisle corrected, a touch sternly.
Gathering a bit of courage, Isabella looked up fully, the hollows under her cheekbones turning bright pink. "Hi, Uncle Carlisle," she repeated, giving him one of her loveliest smiles.
Carlisle winked as he smiled back at her warmly.
"Is my mom – eh, Esme – " That struck her tongue quite awkwardly. "Is she coming?"
"She has a headache," Edward explained with a grumble, carrying a Pyrex platter of seared tuna with a sesame crust. He set it on the table. "Thank the fucking lord."
"Edward," Bella winced, unhappy with the turn in the conversation. Edward acknowledged her by mindlessly tucking her hair behind her ear.
"Do you want some salad, darling?" Carlisle asked Bella. "I'm just putting everything on one plate, but that'll just be our little secret. Don't tell your mom."
Carlisle winked again, and Bella felt a rush of affection and relief. She realized that was her greatest fear, and her impetus for secrecy – distorting her relationship with this family that she loved, and that loved her. Carlisle, especially, was so very important to her.
Carlisle served Bella some Asian cucumber salad and a seared tuna fillet.
"Speaking of the horror of mixing courses," Edward asked lazily, grabbing a thin slice of cucumber with his fingers. "Why do you let Esme and your mother act like fucking sociopaths? They walk all over you. And it's your fucking money and your goddamned kitchen."
"Edward," Bella hissed with displeasure, even though she had to bite her lip to keep the amusement off her face.
"It's a valid question," Edward shrugged in self-defense.
Carlisle sighed, exasperated but amused. "Believe it or not," Carlisle said wryly, "I was once your age, and – "
"Forty million years ago."
"- and I used to fight my mother all the time," Carlisle continued calmly. "Then I turned forty and I realized it's best to accept the things you cannot change. Especially over something as absurd as – "
"Having two courses of dinner on the same plate," Bella said dryly, taking a sip of mineral water. "Or eating in the kitchen."
"Precisely."
Edward mumbled obscenities under his breath as he took a sip of his water.
Before anybody but Edward started, Senator Masen joined them.
Isabella smiled at him sweetly, oddly happy to see him looking well, rested, and refreshed by the sea air. Wharton Bay was lovely that way.
"Somebody needs to take Esme's horrible little dog out for a walk," Edward Senior muttered grumpily as he sat. "Or he'll be barking all night and peeing everywhere."
Isabella, who had been giggling for no particular reason all summer, burst out into peals of laughter, making Edward Senior's lips twist into a little smile.
"By somebody, I mean you, dear boy," the elder of the two Edwards barked sharply, making Bella laugh harder.
Edward groaned.
Bella couldn't resist. "The lavender poopy bags are in the mudroom," she ribbed Edward dryly.
"You'll be doing us all a public service," Edward Senior harrumphed. "That animal needs to do its business outside. The gentleman at the dry cleaners barely got the urine stench out of my shoes. I had to tip him a 50."
Bella snorted out laughter with a pig-like snort, the one imperfect flaw in an otherwise angelic person. "I'm sorry about your shoes," she explained, clapping a hand to her mouth.
"I'm sorry, too," Edward Senior grumbled, but he smiled at the sound of Bella laughing. "I'm especially sorry for Carlisle's living room couch."
Carlisle chuckled. "Mrs. Maynard was telling me this morning that we're going to have to hire someone professional to get the stench out of the living room. I think Bruno marked his territory everywhere."
"I told Esme that foul little dog was a terrible idea from the beginning," Edward's grandfather sighed.
"I think she just needs something to take care of," Bella said kindly, in her mother's defense. "And Bruno is very cute, with his tiny nose. It's sweet."
"I think she does," Edward Senior said. "They call that empty nest syndrome. My wife had it, too, after Elizabeth left for Paris. And Esme was just obsessed with you, sweetheart. You were her whole life."
The comment was said as an observation, but it struck Bella as so painfully poignant that she had to clutch her stomach.
"But you were much cuter than Bruno," Carlisle interjected amusedly, either obliviously or kindly.
"—And you've never shit on anybody's shoes," Edward added sardonically.
"I think there's a compliment in there," Bella snorted.
"It is a compliment, sweetheart. You were such a beautiful baby. All eyes." Carlisle said, earnestly but casually. "Honestly. I think Fisher Prize wanted you for a commercial."
Bella turned scarlet with embarrassment. "You're making that up," she whispered bashfully.
"It's true," Edward Senior said matter-of-factly. "A scout wanted you for a national Pampers commercial in '91, and then some other marketing company wanted you for a catalog in '93."
The heat in Isabella's face spread to her neck. "Really?" she squeaked, equal parts flattered and uncomfortable. "Well, I'm thankful it didn't happen."
"Esme never considered it," Edward Senior reassured her.
"She's a great mom," Isabella said softly.
"Hi, darling."
Without bothering to knock, Edward waltzed into her room with a cocky and crooked grin on his face. He wasn't wearing a shirt, only boxers. It was shocking enough that Isabella spasmed in shock.
Once her body settled, she wrinkled her nose at him playfully, with mock displeasure.
"You can't just barge in. What if I had been naked?" Isabella asked dryly, eyes sparkling.
"Then we would've saved time," Edward volleyed back. "Christ. I couldn't finish with you yesterday." They were perpendicular to each other. Edward opened with a kiss to her lips, and Isabella reciprocated: she deepened the kiss, sucking on his perfect bottom lip.
Studiously, she had learned to mimic his technique for kissing. She loved it because she could get a little better with each iteration, as if practicing. He hummed appreciatively when he nibbled on his bottom lip.
Isabella was the first to break away gently, cupping his jaw.
"Should we really do this?" she asked anxiously, casting a dread-filled look at the door. "Are we allowed?"
Edward rolled his eyes. "Bella, baby," he grumbled. "We're both adults, sweetheart. Sure, my Dad probably isn't thrilled that we're – and I quote – having sexual intercourse, but there's nothing he can do about it. I think his only real concern is that you don't end up hurt. Or pregnant."
"Really?" Isabella asked, filled with love for Carlisle.
"He said, word for word, that you're the more vulnerable party here and that he'll tear off my balls if I hurt you or take advantage of you."
"Tear off your balls?" Bella snickered dryly. "That's the phrase he used?"
"I paraphrased. Now, can I take off your top?"
Bella let out a peal of a giggle.
"Unless you don't want to," Edward added solemnly. "Then I'll fuck off right off."
That made Isabella smile.
"I want to," she said, blushingly.
Surprised at how eager and brazen she was, she began to tug at the hem of her t-shirt, lifting. Sighing with relief, Edward helped, first by running his warm hand all over her skin. With his fingertips, he caressed her in a way that conveyed reverence and wonderment all at once. "You're so gorgeous," Edward murmured against her neck. "So lovely."
Isabella loved it when he talked.
Edward crawled around her. First, he was on all fours, bracing himself above her. He kissed her once on the lips, long and hard, and then plopped down next to her, flat on his back. Awkwardly as always, Bella moved in clumsy, jerky movements. She managed to sprawl out above him, and they were chest-to-chest again.
The intensity made her skin tingle all over with electricity. Edward wrapped his arms around her, holding her closer. It was everything. She felt closer to him than she had ever felt to another human being – safe and so loved. Underneath her heart, she could feel his beating. She stroked his arms, scratching lightly until she reached his hands and intertwined their fingers.
Their kisses were close-mouthed, and they drifted. He kissed her everywhere: the corner of her lip, the tip of her nose, the crease between her eyebrows, the dimples on her cheeks. "You have the most beautiful nose," he murmured raspingly against her. "I'm obsessed with your nose."
Making that noise she always made – a cojoined moan and whimper – she let her hands trail down his chest, lingering over the places where she knew he was sensitive. She had a particular destination in mind. Rose's information was fresh in her head, and curiosity drove her hand forward, lingering past the hard muscle of his abdomen until -
"Is the door locked?" Isabella managed to gasp breathily, as heat spread under her skin with every kiss.
"Yes," Edward muttered dismissively, irritated at the question.
"No, it's not," Bella retorted. "I didn't hear the lock click."
Edward gave her that look again – like he was wondering if she had gone crazy, but he was resigned to obeying. Grumbling to himself, he stood and walked two long steps, as if lunging, to the door. With a satisfying click, the door locked.
"Happy now?"
"Now that my mother can't walk in on us?" Isabella deadpanned sardonically. "Yes."
Edward returned standing, with his boxers tented.
Gently, Edward dropped a kiss on the arch of her right foot, and Isabella's stomach flipped. Her heart burst. Of her two feet, the right one was most intensely deformed, and Edward didn't seem to care. Just as tenderly, he stroked the length of her leg, from the arch of her foot to the top of her hip – then dropped a kiss to the scar on her hip. Closing his eyes, he kissed the site of that bone graft three times, and she felt it. She felt his message in her skin. I wish I could make all your hurt go away.
Edward raised his gaze, and his eyes were swirling with emotion. "Can I touch you again?" he asked quietly, eager, and vulnerable.
Isabella was caught in a maelstrom of her own making. He loves you so much. He's going to find all of you beautiful because he loves you. I would think about how you're the most beautiful person I know, in every way. I felt so jealous all the time. I realized that anybody would be lucky to be with you. That nobody could ever deserve you. Making love because I love you more than anything.
She threaded her fingers through his hair, stroking his scalp. "Yes," she whispered, and her voice shook.
A tender smile twisted his lips upwards, and he kissed the spot above her belly button as he moved over her again. He locked his fingers around the waist pants of her summery pants and started to lower them. Though her heart was pounding and her stomach was knotted, she tried to lift her buttocks into a bridge. It rose barely an inch, but it was enough. Edward slipped her pants – and her panties – off.
They jumped off the precipice.
Underneath his gaze, Isabella was completely naked. Completely vulnerable. She had always known, bone-deep, what Rose had articulated it so well. It's a lot of vulnerability on your part. Isabella couldn't stand, let alone walk. If he chose to hurt her, she would be trapped. Instinctively, she her fingers stretched outwards as if reaching for her wheelchair. She had always known - always known – this moment would hinge completely on trust.
Fluttering, her heart was thumping against the skin of her throat.
With great care, Edward lifted each of her bare ankles to help her strip. Her ankles the part of her body that had amassed the most scarring. His hands were warm and gentle on her feet, tugging on the pants to take them off completely. The pants became a flowery mess of black and white on the floor.
Scared shitless, Isabella forgot to breathe.
Her legs – bare, bony, scarred, as pale as her breasts – were revealed to the light. The muscles were flaccid and soft to the touch because she had been fighting atrophy her whole life. Next to hers, his thighs were bulging large with muscle and veins.
Edward kept his eyes on hers – cold jewels to warm honey – as he lifted her right ankle. His warm hands cradled her right leg with aching tenderness and great care. Her right leg was "the fucked one" - an inch shorter than the left leg and more affected by the palsy.
Very gently, he trailed light, reverent kisses on the flattened arch of her foot, which a surgeon had tried to reconstruct to no avail. On her heel, which was thin and frail with osteoporosis decades before its time. With his fingers, he traced a path along the corded, raised tissue that a botched surgery had bequeathed. It stretched from her foot to mid-shin.
With his lips, he blazed a path on the scars crisscrossing her legs from ankle to hip.
It happened quickly, but it changed her life.
Edward loved her. Completely, and maybe even irrevocably, in all her brokenness.
With the back of his hand, he wiped a tear that had fallen past her cheekbone, then kissed the salt residue it left on her skin.
"I love you." Isabella burned with sincerity, with emotion flaming in her chest. "I love you. I could never do this with anyone else. You're the love of my life."
"I've never done this with anyone else," he murmured with aching earnestness, and Isabella's scoff salted the moment. "I don't want to do it again with anyone else."
"Hell of a time to bring up other women," Isabella snorted dryly, and Edward's lips twisted into a rueful grimace.
"I may have been with lots of women," he said, voice intense. "But this is the first time I've made love."
Smiling and glowing stupidly, Bella kissed him softly. With her hand, she clawed at Edward's waist, beckoning him to move closer. He braced himself on his forearms as he moved on top of her while they kissed again. There was an inch of air between them, and it felt like steam.
Isabella let her hands trail down, past the dusting of hair, certain of what she wanted to do.
Edward's breath hitched when she palmed his crotch, and she flamed with blush, until she finally felt it – half-deflating, perhaps weighted down by the gravity of the moment.
Edward hissed, even though her touch was unsure. She palmed his dick, touching it hesitantly, amazed at how it felt. Nothing else she had ever touched could compare.
"Sweetheart, you don't have to," he blurted throatily, dropping his forehead to hers. His eyes were shut.
"Can I?" Isabella asked, feeling dumb because she asked so brightly - sheepish, blushing, and curious. Rose's information was fresh in her brain, and she wanted to see it, to feel it. To make him feel the way she felt.
Forehead pressed against hers, Edward grinned back, turning red. Embarrassment looked strange on him, she thought. "You can always touch me," he gasped, as her grip tightened.
"Can I see it?" she asked bashfully, a whisper against his neck. She dropped her gaze and peeked at him through her eyelashes.
Edward's grin widened. "You're asking if you can see my dick, baby?"
She let out a little laugh and smacked him softly on the shoulder. "Edward," she half-groaned.
"I don't want you to feel pressured, OK?" he cautioned, with a touch of sternness. "You don't have to do this if you don't want to."
"I'll let you know if I change my mind," Bella whispered, feeling bashful and playful all at once. Edward's grin returned, and he moved over her carefully.
Edward sat on the edge of the bed. He cupped her cheek and stroked her cheekbones with the back of his palm. The look on his face made Isabella wonder how she had been so blind to his feelings for so long.
"I mean it, Bella," he repeated, making a valiant attempt to sound stern. "I really mean it, love."
"I know you mean it," she echoed, turning serious for a split-second.
Satisfied, he breathed and reached out to wrap his arms around her lower back to help her sit up. Bracingly, he kept his hands on her back so that she wouldn't tumble back into the mattress. They were so close again, almost breathing the same breath. "I wanted to take care of you first," he admitted shyly, voice husky.
Then Isabella said the dumbest thing she could have said. "We can take turns," she blurted, then laughed. Chuckling, Edward stroked the trail of skin that led from her underarms to her ribs, making her shiver and giggle.
He kissed her slowly, sucking on her bottom lip.
He kept a hand on her back to support her. Once Isabella had both hands on the mattress, bracing her up, he let go. She focused on shifting, leaning hard to give her legs the momentum to swing off the bed, one by one.
With more nonchalance than Isabella could have ever imagined, he stood and stripped.
Isabella barely saw him strip: in fact, she didn't even catch a glimpse of his cock.
Once she was sitting, she was hit by a wave of embarassment. Aware of how crippled she looked, she let her head hang with shame. She couldn't cover her tits, because her arms – not her abdomen – were holding her up. Edward had watched every awkward effort she made to move her disabled body into a sitting position.
Edward fell to his knees in front of her and touched her face. "I love you," he repeated firmly, intensely. "I've only ever loved you. You're perfect to me, exactly as you are. And I'm so fucking thankful you trust me like this."
Once upon a time, Edward had something similar. The very next day, he had shattered her completely.
She was willing to trust that he had learned his lesson.
"I love you, too," she admitted bashfully. She shifted closer to hug him, wrapping her slender arms around his shoulders. Skin-to-skin, breathing him in. Getting the reassurance that she needed. They breathed in and out together, in a rhythm that evened out.
It was too much, the nakedness, and the touching. Isabella felt a hit of vertigo.
It had become too much, and so she took him at his word. "I'm a little overwhelmed," she admitted softly. "Can we stop? Can we just cuddle?"
Once the words were out, true as they were, Isabella turned scarlet. Edward's face flashed with disappointment, but he schooled his features. "Always," he said sweetly, kissing her cheek. "You're running the plays."
"We can stay naked," she blurted brazenly but didn't regret saying it.
In return, Edward grinned teasingly: he moved to squat on his haunches, and Isabella caught a glimpse of his cock for the first time. It was hanging so openly. Just hanging there. Isabella was overcome with an urge to touch it, out of sheer curiosity.
Edward caught her looking, and a cocky smirk overcame his features. His face became awash with the trademark arrogance of his teens. Slowly, he stood.
"Darling, you don't have – " he grunted, eyes closed. "- You don't have to touch it right now if you don't want to."
But she did want to touch it.
Edward stood, it was perfectly at her eye level, and completely erect. It was much bigger than she ever imagined. Like Rose said, it was veiny. The vein that ran across it stood out, creating a ridge. Curiously, she lifted a hand and let her fingers trail across it, exploring the ridges and the underside of the shaft. It was softer than she ever imagined, velvety. The head was a pulsating, vibrant pink. Wondering what Rose meant about up and down, she tilted her head, squinting.
Edward laughed. The sound was warm. Gentle. As if in illustration, he wrapped his hand around it, as if creating a sheath with his fist. Edward had always been brash to the point of arrogance about "his cock." Isabella was shocked at how much.
Overcome with insanity, she tilted forward and touched the crevice at the head with the tip of her tongue. Edward's breath hitched, and he grunted. "Fuck," he hissed. "Fuck, baby."
"Is that nice?" she asked worriedly, her doe eyes huge with concern, even as she blushed. She had done it to get a sense of what Rose meant. What it would mean to take it in her mouth.
Edward gulped, and his Adam's apple bobbed hotly. "Yes, it's nice."
But she was overcome with shyness again, and she hid her face behind a curtain of hair. It felt like too much, just yet.
They had done so much that night, at least by her standards.
Wordlessly, she turned her head away. "Good to know," she squeaked shyly, lifting her legs in the bed to curl up. Edward grumbled something about teasing under his breath, but Isabella didn't hear it.
Her heart was still pounding in her ears. As her heart settled into a calmer and different rhythm, Edward walked around the bed and crawled onto the other side.
That night, they slept naked.
In its domesticity, it was the most intimate thing they had ever done. Edward turned on the television: she half-crawled on top of him, placing her head on his chest and a hand on his stomach. With one trembling finger, she made swirling patterns on his abdomen. She fell asleep on his chest, dozing lightly.
When she woke again, there was a different show playing, the kind with a laugh track. She shifted, curling into a ball, and putting a pillow in between her knees. Later at night, Edward spooned up behind her.