Watching Her Chapter 4 - Prince Edward

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Chapter 4 - Prince Edward - Enchanted
Prince Edward is handsome, funny, heroic, if not a bit clumsy, yet he is still tough. He is looking for that happily ever after. 

"Hey, man, where the hell are you?" Jasper demands before I even say hello.

I huff, because it's only like the fifth time he or Emmett has called since I woke up. I know they're wondering where the hell I am or at the very least why they can't get into my house. I took the key from its hiding place outside under the planter. I'm not about to spend my summer with those two fools barging in whenever they feel like it. As usual, we're supposed to be practicing, but instead, I'm on my way to Port Angeles.

To buy drumsticks.

For her.

"I have an errand to run. I'll catch you guys this afternoon after lunch. Maybe we can go run or something," I try to deflect.

Of course he can't just let that go without a comment so he presses, asking, "An errand where? We'll just wait for you or you can meet us at the field when you're done."

"I'm going to Port Angeles, so I'll just meet you guys later. I'll call you when I'm done." My tone is brusque, but I can't help it. I know Jasper; he doesn't let shit go and he always knows when I'm hiding something.

Smooth, perceptive motherfucker.

There's silence on the other end, but it's the kind that creeps up your spine and makes the hair on your arms stand on end. Silence from Jasper is never a good thing. I can practically see him, his eyes narrowed as he goes over the past two weeks … my evasiveness, my lack of focus, the dark circles under my eyes.

I hear his breath through the phone. My skin prickles and my heart races in my chest as I hear him say, "Are you okay?"

"I don't know," I answer because at this point I have no idea.

My life's a jumble of sleepless nights, murky skies, and a girl that has somehow managed to seep into every part of me so much that I can't think or see or do anything.

"Be careful," is all he answers before he's gone.

I throw the phone onto the seat beside me and shift gears as my car slows through a sharp turn. My mind wanders, as always, to her. I hope the music store in Port Angeles has what I need. I fight the overwhelming compulsion to keep going toward Seattle just to make sure I find what I'm looking for. I even calculate in my head how long it will take me to get there, where to stop for gas, and what time I'd get home if I just keep heading east. Like driving an hour to Port Angeles doesn't make me seem stalkerish enough … driving three hours each way borders on insane. I tell myself that if I speed I can probably cut the round-trip by at least an hour … then I shake my head.

As much as I know that nothing about what I'm doing makes any fucking sense, there's something that tells me not to stop, to keep going, and see what happens.

Maybe I'm just trying to convince my damn self that buying some stranger drumsticks, a beautiful one though she is, is just me doing something nice.

Yeah, right, and I have a bridge to sell you in Brooklyn.

Knowing that I'm going to do it anyway, right or wrong, I flip to my favorite alternative station on the satellite radio and lose myself in the music for the rest of the trip. I find the store with ease; it's one I've been in enough times for myself. I spend a little time looking around, enjoying the fact that besides me and the old guy that owns the place, it's empty. For a small town music store, it's relatively well-stocked. I pick up a package of blank music sheets and a few picks for my guitar before moving toward the small selection of drumsticks. I don't want to give her something generic, but I don't know a whole lot about drums or what kind of sticks are the best. I don't even know if there's a brand or a kind she likes to play with.

I sigh, fighting the urge to flee the store and my stupid idea. What the fuck am I doing? She's just a girl. It was just a song, I chant, puffing my cheeks and holding my breath before letting it go in a long exhale. But she's not and it wasn't. I rock on my heels and run my free hand through my hair, pulling on it as I have a tendency to do when I'm nervous.

"Having trouble deciding?" The old guy's voice startles me and I jump. The tips of my ears heat up - a reaction I curse my mother for and hate frequently.

I shrug, shifting a bit from side to side. My fingers curl around the package in my hand and I know I'm wrinkling the sheets. Damn it. "I need to buy a … ah … um … a friend," I stammer, tripping over the word, "a new set of drumsticks but I don't know what kind to get."

He nods, a little knowingly I think, and then grabs a set off the wall. "These are the best we carry. If you want something a little more special, we can order a set for you." The thought's tempting, but I need drumsticks now. Maybe later… though I'm a fucking idiot for thinking about anything past tonight. Giving her these is probably going to ruin any chance I have with her, but I know I'm going to give them to her anyway.

I hand the guy my debit card once we're at the front counter, thanking my lucky stars that my parents don't check my bank account. I work for Dad at the hospital, doing odd things here and there and they give me an allowance for taking care of the yard and shit like that, so my money's mine to spend as I want. It's not as if they were to see a charge from a music store they'd be surprised, but the less questions I have to answer the better.

I hit up McDonald's, craving some Chicken McNuggets and a Coke. I'm certainly not going to waste a trip to Port Angeles without stopping for some fast food at Mickey D's. There are only so many burgers and fries a guy can eat at the diner, no matter how good they are. After topping off my gas, I head toward home.

I know the uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach that starts as I get closer to Forks isn't coming from the processed chicken I've just shoveled in my face. When I pass the general vicinity where I know her house is, set back from the road and hidden behind the tall trees, my heart thumps behind my rib cage and my fingers wrap around the steering wheel. A few hours, and then I can see her again. It's more than a few, closer to a dozen, but still, just knowing that I will see her somewhat loosens the knot that's pretty much taken up residence in the center of my chest.

Once I'm home, I throw some clothes in the wash, jump in the shower, and then take a nap. It's going to be a long night for me and I want to be ready.

Tonight can change everything.

For better or worse.
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