Watching Her Chapter 35 - Minnie Mouse
~~~~OOO~~~~OOO~~~~
Chapter 35 - Minnie Mouse - Mickey Mouse Club
Minnie is sweet, loving, and innocent. She loves to have fun and is very thoughtful and sensitive.
The lights flicker, causing me to jump and the pen I'm holding to fall from my fingers. It bounces on the floor before rolling beneath my stool. The storm's picked up. Angry thunder crashes and rumbles. Lightning cracks, making the air full of electricity, so much so the hair on my arms stands on end and causes a shiver that shakes my entire body. A quick glance at the clock lets me know there's still a few hours until I have to leave for Bella's. Plenty of time for the storm to pass and for the skies to clear.
I grab the notebook, make a mental note to pick up the pen later, and take a can of Coke from the fridge before I head upstairs. The lights flicker once more as I enter my room. I set the Coke down on the nightstand and toss the notebook on my bed so that I can set the alarm on my phone.
No fucking way am I missing going to Bella's if the electricity goes out and with it my alarm clock.
I drain the Coke, then flop down on my bed, tired but positive I won't be able to sleep. I just want to close my eyes and let my mind drift for a bit. I think about camp first, worrying that I won't be ready … worrying that I am and how hard some of the decisions I might have to make soon truly will be. I think about my parents coming home in a few days and how weird it will be to have answer to them again. It's not like I've been on a thirty day bender or anything, but over the past month, I haven't had to tell one person where I'm going or when I'll be back. I've been able to eat ice cream on the sofa, straight out of the carton, wearing nothing but my boxers with UFC on the TV. Not gonna lie, I've enjoyed the hell out of that.
I can feel my muscles relax, loosening to the consistency of limp noodles. I'm almost floating, in that state between consciousness and sleep where things are hazy and dreamy. I see Bella's face, hear her soft, somewhat raspy laugh. I feel her fingertips, warm and featherlight as they dance up the inside of my thighs and over my stomach, feel the gentle scrape of her fingernails through the light trail of hair beneath my navel and then up over my abs and along my ribcage.
I raise my hips trying to find something, anything, to relieve the hard ache between my legs and am met with nothing but a quiet, knowing, giggle. Silky soft strands of hair brush across my chest, followed by a warm, wet tongue that swirls and flicks at one ultra-sensitive nipple then the next.
"Oh fuck, baby. Jesus Christ, that feels so good." I groan, lifting my hips again.
I hear the rustle of clothes, feel the shift of the bed. "Open your eyes," she whispers against my ear.
I look up and there's nothing but her. Gorgeous and so close and all mine. She straddles my hips and she's just warm, wet heat against my hard, straining, leaking cock. Her hips roll and I hiss. "Bella," I beg. For more, for her, for something, anything.
She leans down, her lips ghost across mine and I can taste her. Sugar cookies and vanilla icing. "You said you wanted to kiss me, Edward, so do it. Kiss me. Show me. Taste me."
And it's like a flip is switched. Tongues and grunts and nibbles of bottom lips and pants and I kiss her like my life depends on it. Hard and bruising, then so slow and so deep it makes my toes curl. We kiss until I see stars, until I'm a panting, writhing mess beneath her … until my dick is so hard it feels like it's made of titanium or something.
Kissing turns to touching, pinching, rubbing. Touching turns into stroking, circling, thrusting and then there's nothing but slick and hot and coiling and then exploding.
Slowly, I fight my way through the fog and the muddled mess in my brain to find my shorts pushed down to my thighs, my fingers wrapped around my semi-hard dick and my stomach covered in jizz.
My orgasm felt so damned good I can't even get grossed out about the cooling spunk … at least not too much.
Showered, dressed - complete with cologne and watch, but no hat, no beanie either, and with the notebook in hand, I'm on my way. The instant I step outside I second guess the no beanie, but I'm in too big of a hurry to go back inside and get one. The night air is heavy and damp, the ground drenched and oozing. I'm definitely going to need to wash my shoes when I get home; Mom will kill me if she sees them caked with mud. Not to mention that might bring up questions I'd rather not answer.
According the phone call I got from Mom earlier, she and Dad will be home in two days. I miss them, but damn I don't know what I'm going to do when they come back. I'm almost positive Dad will have something to do with Bella's mom's care. Being the head of the hospital means that's kind of a given, and knowing my mom, she'll be arranging for meals and visits and all kinds of stuff for Bella. I'm not sure how I feel about that. On the one hand, Bella needs all the help she can get, no one should have to deal with all she has to by herself, but on the other hand, she wants to … she needs to. It's her mom, the last bit of family that's hers.
She's told me that both sets of her grandparents are dead and her parents were both only children so after Renée is gone, there's no one left, except for Phil, and he's not family, not really.
I know once my parents get home, things are definitely going to change. When I stop to think about it, it's kind of weird that I haven't really heard anyone talking about Bella or the new people that moved into the Abbott house or anything like that, but I suppose it's not really all that odd. It's summer, people are coming and going on vacation and without Dad here to talk about hospital stuff, I don't hear any of that. Not to mention … I've been a little preoccupied with practice and Bella. Mostly, pretty much just … Bella.
Once everyone is hanging around town more, people will start talking. They always do. What worries me is I won't be here when they do.
I sigh. Camp really couldn't come at worse fucking time.
Switching those thoughts off because there's nothing I can do about them, I focus on wondering what Bella's next letter is going to say. It gets a little confusing holding two conversations at the same time, but when I think about it, it makes me smile. She's opened up so much, like she was just waiting for the tiniest crack in the floodgates so she could just let everything out.
And let it out she has.
She's so open and honest, but she's funny and poignant and deep, and holy hell can the girl tease? Ever since the night with the black hoodie, it's like she glows as freaking cheesy as that is to say, though it's nothing but the truth. Every night she walks outside she looks a little freer, a little lighter, and a whole hell of a lot happier. Oh, she still has moments, sometimes even most of the time she's outside, when she looks like she might break and it takes all I have not to go to her.
It's hard, really fucking hard, to keep hidden in the dark, but she's asked for time. So, as much as I want to go to her, and Christ Almighty, the pull takes my breath away sometimes, if my girl wants time, I'll give her all she needs.
I'll wait.
As long as it takes for her to be ready.
There are times when it doesn't seem fair, I guess, that I'm the one doing most of the work, or it feels like it anyway, in this friendship, relationship … thing we've got going on. Then I think about how much she's had to deal with, the heartbreak and the pain and the guilt and I realize who the hell cares? If she needs me to put myself out there, I will.
Obviously.
I snort when I look down at the notebook in my hand and shake my head at my idiotic self. Jesus, I'm such a fool for this girl, I think as I walk in her building. I pout, just a little bit and in a totally selfish way, at the fact there isn't another plate of cookies left. Who cares that I still have at least half a dozen left? She's totally created a monster because fuck if her cookies aren't to die for.
A quick glance around and things don't look any different even though they feel that way. I trade out the notebooks and flip hers open real quick only because I can be impatient at times, especially where Bella's concerned. I laugh a little bit, the girl does ramble, but fuck if it's not adorable and sweet and just another thing about her that drives me crazy in the best of all possible ways.
Every night the temptation to stay just a few more minutes gets stronger and stronger. Tonight's no different, but I have a feeling Bella's going to play again, and that's something I can't ever get enough of. I lay my hand over the notebook I've left for her, feeling a little bit stupid for feeling like I'm leaving something, a piece of me, of my heart for her … again.
I hurry to my spot by my tree, wishing not for the first time that there was a chair waiting for me. Maybe I'll bring one, I think, then roll my eyes. What the fuck am I thinking … next I'll be planning on popcorn and a Coke like I'm here to see a show or some shit.
I don't have time to make any more plans because I see the door open. My breath hitches like it always does as soon as she steps outside. Fuck, she's so hot. I grin. I don't even try to stop it when I see the t-shirt for the night. It's light blue and on the front there's a picture of Minnie Mouse. I wonder if that makes me Mickey? Shit, how whack is it that I hope I am Mickey Mouse. Her hair is up in a high ponytail allowing my eyes to have ample skin to salivate over. Who the hell ever knew necks could be so damned sexy?
Personally, I think it's just hers.
But her legs though, damn her legs. They're just pale and perfect and I shake my head to keep my mind from going to a place it always wants to go, but really shouldn't … at least not at the rate I can't seem to help.
She glances in my direction and smiles, a soft, happy smile that makes me feel hot and cold all at the same time. The urge to just move, to step out of the dark and into the light, into her light, is so strong and I let out a sound that's really fucking close to a whimper.
Soon. I hope it'll be soon. I don't know how or when or where, but I do know we can't keep going the way we have been for much longer. I'll be ready, that I do know for sure. When she is, when the time is right, it'll be fucking perfect.
She skips down the steps, her hair swishing across her back. The slight bunching of her shoulders that was present in the beginning is gone now. She moves confidently, knowing there's no way in hell I won't be here.
Like usual, she holds my notebook for a few precious moments, seconds I try to curb my jealousy for the one thing that brings me closer to her.
With a gentle toss, it lands on the loveseat and I feel my body begin to hum with electricity when she takes her seat behind her drums.
She spins the sticks and cocks her head to the side and I watch a sexy smile spread across her face.
"Talk to me, baby," I urge and close my eyes when she begins to play.
~~~~OOO~~~~OOO~~~~
Chapter 35 - Minnie Mouse - Mickey Mouse Club
Minnie is sweet, loving, and innocent. She loves to have fun and is very thoughtful and sensitive.
The lights flicker, causing me to jump and the pen I'm holding to fall from my fingers. It bounces on the floor before rolling beneath my stool. The storm's picked up. Angry thunder crashes and rumbles. Lightning cracks, making the air full of electricity, so much so the hair on my arms stands on end and causes a shiver that shakes my entire body. A quick glance at the clock lets me know there's still a few hours until I have to leave for Bella's. Plenty of time for the storm to pass and for the skies to clear.
I grab the notebook, make a mental note to pick up the pen later, and take a can of Coke from the fridge before I head upstairs. The lights flicker once more as I enter my room. I set the Coke down on the nightstand and toss the notebook on my bed so that I can set the alarm on my phone.
No fucking way am I missing going to Bella's if the electricity goes out and with it my alarm clock.
I drain the Coke, then flop down on my bed, tired but positive I won't be able to sleep. I just want to close my eyes and let my mind drift for a bit. I think about camp first, worrying that I won't be ready … worrying that I am and how hard some of the decisions I might have to make soon truly will be. I think about my parents coming home in a few days and how weird it will be to have answer to them again. It's not like I've been on a thirty day bender or anything, but over the past month, I haven't had to tell one person where I'm going or when I'll be back. I've been able to eat ice cream on the sofa, straight out of the carton, wearing nothing but my boxers with UFC on the TV. Not gonna lie, I've enjoyed the hell out of that.
I can feel my muscles relax, loosening to the consistency of limp noodles. I'm almost floating, in that state between consciousness and sleep where things are hazy and dreamy. I see Bella's face, hear her soft, somewhat raspy laugh. I feel her fingertips, warm and featherlight as they dance up the inside of my thighs and over my stomach, feel the gentle scrape of her fingernails through the light trail of hair beneath my navel and then up over my abs and along my ribcage.
I raise my hips trying to find something, anything, to relieve the hard ache between my legs and am met with nothing but a quiet, knowing, giggle. Silky soft strands of hair brush across my chest, followed by a warm, wet tongue that swirls and flicks at one ultra-sensitive nipple then the next.
"Oh fuck, baby. Jesus Christ, that feels so good." I groan, lifting my hips again.
I hear the rustle of clothes, feel the shift of the bed. "Open your eyes," she whispers against my ear.
I look up and there's nothing but her. Gorgeous and so close and all mine. She straddles my hips and she's just warm, wet heat against my hard, straining, leaking cock. Her hips roll and I hiss. "Bella," I beg. For more, for her, for something, anything.
She leans down, her lips ghost across mine and I can taste her. Sugar cookies and vanilla icing. "You said you wanted to kiss me, Edward, so do it. Kiss me. Show me. Taste me."
And it's like a flip is switched. Tongues and grunts and nibbles of bottom lips and pants and I kiss her like my life depends on it. Hard and bruising, then so slow and so deep it makes my toes curl. We kiss until I see stars, until I'm a panting, writhing mess beneath her … until my dick is so hard it feels like it's made of titanium or something.
Kissing turns to touching, pinching, rubbing. Touching turns into stroking, circling, thrusting and then there's nothing but slick and hot and coiling and then exploding.
Slowly, I fight my way through the fog and the muddled mess in my brain to find my shorts pushed down to my thighs, my fingers wrapped around my semi-hard dick and my stomach covered in jizz.
My orgasm felt so damned good I can't even get grossed out about the cooling spunk … at least not too much.
Showered, dressed - complete with cologne and watch, but no hat, no beanie either, and with the notebook in hand, I'm on my way. The instant I step outside I second guess the no beanie, but I'm in too big of a hurry to go back inside and get one. The night air is heavy and damp, the ground drenched and oozing. I'm definitely going to need to wash my shoes when I get home; Mom will kill me if she sees them caked with mud. Not to mention that might bring up questions I'd rather not answer.
According the phone call I got from Mom earlier, she and Dad will be home in two days. I miss them, but damn I don't know what I'm going to do when they come back. I'm almost positive Dad will have something to do with Bella's mom's care. Being the head of the hospital means that's kind of a given, and knowing my mom, she'll be arranging for meals and visits and all kinds of stuff for Bella. I'm not sure how I feel about that. On the one hand, Bella needs all the help she can get, no one should have to deal with all she has to by herself, but on the other hand, she wants to … she needs to. It's her mom, the last bit of family that's hers.
She's told me that both sets of her grandparents are dead and her parents were both only children so after Renée is gone, there's no one left, except for Phil, and he's not family, not really.
I know once my parents get home, things are definitely going to change. When I stop to think about it, it's kind of weird that I haven't really heard anyone talking about Bella or the new people that moved into the Abbott house or anything like that, but I suppose it's not really all that odd. It's summer, people are coming and going on vacation and without Dad here to talk about hospital stuff, I don't hear any of that. Not to mention … I've been a little preoccupied with practice and Bella. Mostly, pretty much just … Bella.
Once everyone is hanging around town more, people will start talking. They always do. What worries me is I won't be here when they do.
I sigh. Camp really couldn't come at worse fucking time.
Switching those thoughts off because there's nothing I can do about them, I focus on wondering what Bella's next letter is going to say. It gets a little confusing holding two conversations at the same time, but when I think about it, it makes me smile. She's opened up so much, like she was just waiting for the tiniest crack in the floodgates so she could just let everything out.
And let it out she has.
She's so open and honest, but she's funny and poignant and deep, and holy hell can the girl tease? Ever since the night with the black hoodie, it's like she glows as freaking cheesy as that is to say, though it's nothing but the truth. Every night she walks outside she looks a little freer, a little lighter, and a whole hell of a lot happier. Oh, she still has moments, sometimes even most of the time she's outside, when she looks like she might break and it takes all I have not to go to her.
It's hard, really fucking hard, to keep hidden in the dark, but she's asked for time. So, as much as I want to go to her, and Christ Almighty, the pull takes my breath away sometimes, if my girl wants time, I'll give her all she needs.
I'll wait.
As long as it takes for her to be ready.
There are times when it doesn't seem fair, I guess, that I'm the one doing most of the work, or it feels like it anyway, in this friendship, relationship … thing we've got going on. Then I think about how much she's had to deal with, the heartbreak and the pain and the guilt and I realize who the hell cares? If she needs me to put myself out there, I will.
Obviously.
I snort when I look down at the notebook in my hand and shake my head at my idiotic self. Jesus, I'm such a fool for this girl, I think as I walk in her building. I pout, just a little bit and in a totally selfish way, at the fact there isn't another plate of cookies left. Who cares that I still have at least half a dozen left? She's totally created a monster because fuck if her cookies aren't to die for.
A quick glance around and things don't look any different even though they feel that way. I trade out the notebooks and flip hers open real quick only because I can be impatient at times, especially where Bella's concerned. I laugh a little bit, the girl does ramble, but fuck if it's not adorable and sweet and just another thing about her that drives me crazy in the best of all possible ways.
Every night the temptation to stay just a few more minutes gets stronger and stronger. Tonight's no different, but I have a feeling Bella's going to play again, and that's something I can't ever get enough of. I lay my hand over the notebook I've left for her, feeling a little bit stupid for feeling like I'm leaving something, a piece of me, of my heart for her … again.
I hurry to my spot by my tree, wishing not for the first time that there was a chair waiting for me. Maybe I'll bring one, I think, then roll my eyes. What the fuck am I thinking … next I'll be planning on popcorn and a Coke like I'm here to see a show or some shit.
I don't have time to make any more plans because I see the door open. My breath hitches like it always does as soon as she steps outside. Fuck, she's so hot. I grin. I don't even try to stop it when I see the t-shirt for the night. It's light blue and on the front there's a picture of Minnie Mouse. I wonder if that makes me Mickey? Shit, how whack is it that I hope I am Mickey Mouse. Her hair is up in a high ponytail allowing my eyes to have ample skin to salivate over. Who the hell ever knew necks could be so damned sexy?
Personally, I think it's just hers.
But her legs though, damn her legs. They're just pale and perfect and I shake my head to keep my mind from going to a place it always wants to go, but really shouldn't … at least not at the rate I can't seem to help.
She glances in my direction and smiles, a soft, happy smile that makes me feel hot and cold all at the same time. The urge to just move, to step out of the dark and into the light, into her light, is so strong and I let out a sound that's really fucking close to a whimper.
Soon. I hope it'll be soon. I don't know how or when or where, but I do know we can't keep going the way we have been for much longer. I'll be ready, that I do know for sure. When she is, when the time is right, it'll be fucking perfect.
She skips down the steps, her hair swishing across her back. The slight bunching of her shoulders that was present in the beginning is gone now. She moves confidently, knowing there's no way in hell I won't be here.
Like usual, she holds my notebook for a few precious moments, seconds I try to curb my jealousy for the one thing that brings me closer to her.
With a gentle toss, it lands on the loveseat and I feel my body begin to hum with electricity when she takes her seat behind her drums.
She spins the sticks and cocks her head to the side and I watch a sexy smile spread across her face.
"Talk to me, baby," I urge and close my eyes when she begins to play.
~~~~OOO~~~~OOO~~~~
Watching Her Chapter 34 - Prince Eric
Friday, April 27, 2012
~~~~OOO~~~~OOO~~~~
Chapter 34 - Prince Eric - The Little Mermaid
He wants to kiss the girl …
"Holy hell." I chuckle, but only because there's every possibility if I don't laugh I'll start crying.
I stare down at her words and trace her name with my fingertip, sighing at myself for acting like such a sap. I swear, if I were feeling any mushier, I'd be a dollop of marshmallow fluff.
Not that I care, at least not too much, because no one but me knows that I'm about three seconds away from jumping up and down and yelling, "she likes me, she really likes me," at the top of my lungs.
I want to wallow in this feeling I have right now, like I want to just roll around and let it soak into my skin, but the need to write her back is even stronger. I take a few deep breaths and as I do, I focus on the other parts of her letter, especially the part about her dad. Fuck, how much should one person have to deal with? She's so much stronger than I ever even thought she was. I wonder if she truly understands that.
A crack of thunder makes me jump in the chair, and when I see lightning zigzag across the sky, I figure it's time to go inside. The air's heavy; the storm that's coming is going to be a doozy … I just hope it passes by the time I need to go to Bella's. Nothing will stop me from going, especially tonight, but I'd rather not trudge through mud and get soaked if I don't have to.
After a healthy meal of frozen burritos, Doritos, and a Coke, which I eat standing up, I get comfortable on a stool at the island in the kitchen. Lightning continues to flash, thunder continues to rumble, but it barely registers.
I open the notebook fully, her letter on the left, a blank sheet of paper on the right. Glancing down, I see her name, written in her handwriting and shiver at the chills that sends racing up my spine. Putting pen to paper, I begin to write …
Bella,
Yeah, you'll always be Drummer Girl, but there's something about being able to call you, or well write, your name that I can't quite get enough of. I suppose that might come from weeks of not knowing your name. Glad to hear you like Edward, wait, you haven't exactly said you liked it, did you, just that it fit me. Is that a good or bad thing?
I can't tell you how sorry I am about what happened to your dad. He sounds like he was a great man, and it's obvious you still miss him a lot. I miss my dad and he's only been gone a few weeks; I can't even wrap my head around him all of a sudden not being here … and you've had to do it twice. How do you do it? I know I've asked you that already, and I don't mean to ask you questions I know will make you upset, but I really want to know. Do you have any idea how amazing I think you are?
By the way, thanks for bringing up the t-shirts. I was going out of my mind trying to figure them out. Now that you've explained them though, they do make perfect sense … even the ones you've worn for me. Can I tell you that I um … well, I think that's probably one of the coolest things that I've ever seen. Knowing, now, that those shirts came from your dad or even your mom, and that you thought of me specifically when you put it on, it's just, yeah, pretty fucking great. You were talking to me and I didn't even know it. I felt it though, I did.
And in case you can't tell, I absolutely do NOT think it's silly to wear them or use them to feel close to your dad. Bella, he's your dad, he always will be, even if he's not here anymore. I hate it that you have to be without him. It hurts if you want to know the fucking truth, and it makes me hurt … for you.
You lost your dad, and now with all of this happening with your mom, and Phil.You haven't said a lot about him and your relationship with him, but I can tell, or I think I can, that though you care about him a lot, he's not exactly giving you what you need.
A loud crack of lightning zips from the sky and the wind and rain pelt the sliding glass door that leads from the living room out to the deck. I drum my fingers on the notebook, the thump, thump slow and steady. After a few moments I realize what I'm doing - tapping out the notes of my song. Jesus, I wish she'd play it for me again.
Soon, I hope, really fucking soon.
Speaking of soon …
Bella, do you ever think about what it'll be like when we see each other for the first time? Does it make you scared to picture it, or does it make you excited … and not in a dirty way either, but in that 'your stomach rises then drops like it does when you go on a roller coaster' way. I've imagined it a lot and I really can't fucking wait, but I like what's going on right now, too. I can talk to you in a way that I've never been able to talk to anyone else, not even my best friends, Jasper and Emmett, or my other friends, Alice and Rose. You can stop right there. Ali and Rose are madly in love with Jasper and Emmett, and I've known them almost all my life. There are times they all annoy the hell out of me, and honestly, I feel out of place because they each have someone, but it's been that way for so long (they've all been together so long I can hardly remember a time when they weren't) I've had plenty of time to get used to it. Doesn't mean it's not hard to deal with sometimes, and it doesn't mean I don't wonder if I'll ever have the same thing.
I want you to meet them, when you're ready. They'll all like you, don't worry about that. Alice and Rose will probably want you to hang out and do whatever girl stuff they do, paint their toenails and watch movies on Lifetime or some shit. Jasper and Emmett will probably ask you a million questions about Phil and if you know anyone else famous (do you?), but they'll all like you. I know they will.
No one knows about your mom or Phil or your dad; I haven't told anyone, I promise. I hate that you're so alone, but I also want to keep you to myself. Does that make me sound like a selfish asshole? God, I hope not, but do you understand what I'm trying to say? I want you to have friends and be able to hang out with us and go to the movies and the football games (not that they're anything to write home about, but it's something to do) but I want to be the one you do those things with.
Please don't get freaked out by that. I'm honestly not trying to push you or anything like that, but damn, Bella, you have to know what you do to me. I want to kiss you, like really kiss you. It's all I think about sometimes, when I'm not thinking about what you look like when you play, which is really fucking hot by the way. I've never felt about anyone the way I feel about you. It's not just because I feel sorry for you about what's happened to your mom and dad, though I hate it for you.
It's just you.
I'd probably never, ever, be able to come right out and say this to you face to face, so maybe we can keep up writing for a little longer, or forever, or at least until I don't feel like a total tool for just blurting that out, but we promised not to hide things from each other, so there ya go. Probably not exactly what you had in mind, was it?
Okay, I'm going now. I think I need to go throw up or something …
I'll see you later,
Edward
~~~~OOO~~~~OOO~~~~
Chapter 34 - Prince Eric - The Little Mermaid
He wants to kiss the girl …
"Holy hell." I chuckle, but only because there's every possibility if I don't laugh I'll start crying.
I stare down at her words and trace her name with my fingertip, sighing at myself for acting like such a sap. I swear, if I were feeling any mushier, I'd be a dollop of marshmallow fluff.
Not that I care, at least not too much, because no one but me knows that I'm about three seconds away from jumping up and down and yelling, "she likes me, she really likes me," at the top of my lungs.
I want to wallow in this feeling I have right now, like I want to just roll around and let it soak into my skin, but the need to write her back is even stronger. I take a few deep breaths and as I do, I focus on the other parts of her letter, especially the part about her dad. Fuck, how much should one person have to deal with? She's so much stronger than I ever even thought she was. I wonder if she truly understands that.
A crack of thunder makes me jump in the chair, and when I see lightning zigzag across the sky, I figure it's time to go inside. The air's heavy; the storm that's coming is going to be a doozy … I just hope it passes by the time I need to go to Bella's. Nothing will stop me from going, especially tonight, but I'd rather not trudge through mud and get soaked if I don't have to.
After a healthy meal of frozen burritos, Doritos, and a Coke, which I eat standing up, I get comfortable on a stool at the island in the kitchen. Lightning continues to flash, thunder continues to rumble, but it barely registers.
I open the notebook fully, her letter on the left, a blank sheet of paper on the right. Glancing down, I see her name, written in her handwriting and shiver at the chills that sends racing up my spine. Putting pen to paper, I begin to write …
Bella,
Yeah, you'll always be Drummer Girl, but there's something about being able to call you, or well write, your name that I can't quite get enough of. I suppose that might come from weeks of not knowing your name. Glad to hear you like Edward, wait, you haven't exactly said you liked it, did you, just that it fit me. Is that a good or bad thing?
I can't tell you how sorry I am about what happened to your dad. He sounds like he was a great man, and it's obvious you still miss him a lot. I miss my dad and he's only been gone a few weeks; I can't even wrap my head around him all of a sudden not being here … and you've had to do it twice. How do you do it? I know I've asked you that already, and I don't mean to ask you questions I know will make you upset, but I really want to know. Do you have any idea how amazing I think you are?
By the way, thanks for bringing up the t-shirts. I was going out of my mind trying to figure them out. Now that you've explained them though, they do make perfect sense … even the ones you've worn for me. Can I tell you that I um … well, I think that's probably one of the coolest things that I've ever seen. Knowing, now, that those shirts came from your dad or even your mom, and that you thought of me specifically when you put it on, it's just, yeah, pretty fucking great. You were talking to me and I didn't even know it. I felt it though, I did.
And in case you can't tell, I absolutely do NOT think it's silly to wear them or use them to feel close to your dad. Bella, he's your dad, he always will be, even if he's not here anymore. I hate it that you have to be without him. It hurts if you want to know the fucking truth, and it makes me hurt … for you.
You lost your dad, and now with all of this happening with your mom, and Phil.You haven't said a lot about him and your relationship with him, but I can tell, or I think I can, that though you care about him a lot, he's not exactly giving you what you need.
A loud crack of lightning zips from the sky and the wind and rain pelt the sliding glass door that leads from the living room out to the deck. I drum my fingers on the notebook, the thump, thump slow and steady. After a few moments I realize what I'm doing - tapping out the notes of my song. Jesus, I wish she'd play it for me again.
Soon, I hope, really fucking soon.
Speaking of soon …
Bella, do you ever think about what it'll be like when we see each other for the first time? Does it make you scared to picture it, or does it make you excited … and not in a dirty way either, but in that 'your stomach rises then drops like it does when you go on a roller coaster' way. I've imagined it a lot and I really can't fucking wait, but I like what's going on right now, too. I can talk to you in a way that I've never been able to talk to anyone else, not even my best friends, Jasper and Emmett, or my other friends, Alice and Rose. You can stop right there. Ali and Rose are madly in love with Jasper and Emmett, and I've known them almost all my life. There are times they all annoy the hell out of me, and honestly, I feel out of place because they each have someone, but it's been that way for so long (they've all been together so long I can hardly remember a time when they weren't) I've had plenty of time to get used to it. Doesn't mean it's not hard to deal with sometimes, and it doesn't mean I don't wonder if I'll ever have the same thing.
I want you to meet them, when you're ready. They'll all like you, don't worry about that. Alice and Rose will probably want you to hang out and do whatever girl stuff they do, paint their toenails and watch movies on Lifetime or some shit. Jasper and Emmett will probably ask you a million questions about Phil and if you know anyone else famous (do you?), but they'll all like you. I know they will.
No one knows about your mom or Phil or your dad; I haven't told anyone, I promise. I hate that you're so alone, but I also want to keep you to myself. Does that make me sound like a selfish asshole? God, I hope not, but do you understand what I'm trying to say? I want you to have friends and be able to hang out with us and go to the movies and the football games (not that they're anything to write home about, but it's something to do) but I want to be the one you do those things with.
Please don't get freaked out by that. I'm honestly not trying to push you or anything like that, but damn, Bella, you have to know what you do to me. I want to kiss you, like really kiss you. It's all I think about sometimes, when I'm not thinking about what you look like when you play, which is really fucking hot by the way. I've never felt about anyone the way I feel about you. It's not just because I feel sorry for you about what's happened to your mom and dad, though I hate it for you.
It's just you.
I'd probably never, ever, be able to come right out and say this to you face to face, so maybe we can keep up writing for a little longer, or forever, or at least until I don't feel like a total tool for just blurting that out, but we promised not to hide things from each other, so there ya go. Probably not exactly what you had in mind, was it?
Okay, I'm going now. I think I need to go throw up or something …
I'll see you later,
Edward
~~~~OOO~~~~OOO~~~~
Watching Her Chapter 33 - Snow White
~~~~OOO~~~~OOO~~~~
Chapter 33 - Snow White - Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs
Snow White was very loved by her father. She is kind, sweet, and gentle.
The entire ride home, all the way up the stairs and into my room, I think about the conversation I've just had with Emmett and Jasper. It's not like I haven't thought about it all before, but somehow, like Bella mentioned in her letter, saying things out loud is a hell of a lot different than thinking them to yourself or writing them down on paper.
I drop my soccer bag on the floor and kick my shoes off. Lifting my arm, I sniff and decide a shower's definitely in order before I get down to business. By the time I'm done and dressed in clothes that don't smell like ass, I grab the notebook and a pen and for a change of pace, take it downstairs and out the front door.
The afternoon's dark, charcoal gray storm clouds have moved in and there's a rumble of thunder off in the distance. It's not raining yet, but it will be soon. The wind's picked up just enough to swirl a few leaves and make them skitter along the front porch and to make the air smell wet and like pine trees.
It's a perfect day to spend alone.
I've never really thought of myself as an introvert, and I suppose in the literal sense I'm not. I mean, I love hanging out with Jasper and Emmett, and with Alice and Rose, too. I don't even mind larger groups, but I definitely prefer quiet time over anything loud. I go to parties and stuff because I like seeing my friends and because, well it's Forks, and there aren't a whole lot of options, but I never stay long and I never mind when I'm the first one to go home.
I think Bella and I might have that in common. The thought makes me smile and inordinately happy.
Turning, I move toward the large wicker chair in the corner and settle down in it so I can read her letter and get moving on my own back to her.
Dear Edward,
Gah, did it feel strange to you when you wrote my name the first time? Because, I have to tell you, my hand's shaking like crazy right now and my heart feels like it does after I get done playing a set … ready to fly out of my chest.
Edward, huh?
Not at all what I imagined, I have to be honest, but somehow, I think it's absolutely perfect for you.
I snort, again, and wonder, again, what names she'd imagined. Not sure I'll ever tell her what I came up with for her. I shudder just thinking about it.
You asked me a lot of questions, but I'm going to answer the ones I had prepared myself for and save the others for later. Some of them were unexpected to say the least. Not unwelcome, at all, just so you know, but ones I hadn't really thought about. Wished for maybe, probably, but definitely not expected. Am I rambling again? I am, aren't I? Don't laugh at me. Thanks to you I'm staring at your handwriting, which again, I think rather suits your name as weird as that is to say, and it's making my knee bounce up and down and hands shake a bit … and I know my handwriting isn't nice enough that I can afford for it to be any messier than normal.
Bet you think so, too, don't you? You have to tell me, you know, especially in light of your proclamation that we won't hide things from each other. In that whole spirit, um … can I tell you that I'm a teensy bit freaked out that you've actually seen me up close and personal like. Well, I guess it couldn't have been too close since I don't remember seeing anyone in the store that day and
Here she's marked out a few words, scribbled over them in swirls of ink until I can't tell what she's written. It doesn't matter though, and I laugh, because well, my girl's adorable if not a little bit crazy.
Crap, I just called you out on being honest and not hiding anything and there I go marking stuff out. Not fair I suppose, is it? Okay, the reason I know I don't remember you being there is because when you come here, inside my building, I can always tell. I know you come inside, of course I do, but I can feel it. It's like there's this, I don't even know what to call it, a presence maybe, that you leave behind. It's nice. I like it. It makes me feel safe and … well, I think that's what I was so afraid of the night of your birthday … not feeling like that again.
I sigh and rub my fingertips across my chest and over my heart. The one that's expanded and stretched and is full of nothing but her. Jesus, what this girl does to me.
Anyway, back to answering your questions. First, I guess I'll start with my dad. His name was Charlie and he died when I was 10. Well, he didn't die, he was killed in the line of duty. He was a police officer in Phoenix and was out on patrol one night and got sent to a domestic disturbance call. He and his partner walked in on some high as hell guy waving a gun around at his wife and two little kids, threatening to kill them and then himself. When one of the kids, a little girl who was three, started crying and wet her pants from being so scared, the guy lost it even more and pointed his gun at the kid, and my dad … well, my dad jumped in front of the mom and the kids, and pushed them out of the way right as the guy fired his gun. Dad was wearing a bulletproof vest, but he got shot in the leg, in the femoral artery. They tried to save him, but he didn't even make it to the hospital before he died.
It took me a long time to even understand what had happened to him. A part of me still doesn't. He was my whole world, my hero. I loved, love, my mom, but my dad was everything to me. We were so happy, that I remember. My mom didn't really like him being a policeman, I remember that, too, but I also remember him talking to me about what he did one day when I was about nine and telling me how it was what he was meant to do, to help people.
He was this larger than life man with arms that felt like steel and hands and fingers that were scarred and gnarled, but were as gentle as a feather when covering up my many cuts and scrapes with Band-Aids. Looking back on it, I suppose he was intimidating, but I never thought that. He was a big guy. He had a mustache and he always smelled like coffee and Old Spice and butterscotch … they were his favorite candy and he always had some in his pocket. Whenever we would play hide and seek, I could always find him because the cellophane crinkled in his pockets when he would walk. I never told him that, but I think he probably knew.
He worked a lot, but I don't remember thinking that because when he was off, our days were full. Arizona Diamondback baseball games, camping in the desert, tea parties in my room, basketball in our driveway, long walks that included a stop for ice cream. When he didn't work, my mom used that time to do whatever new hobby she'd found: water aerobics, pottery class, learning how to speak Japanese. You name it, she's tried it.
We vacationed in the mountains and took long trips to California to go to Disneyland ... at least a few times a year. Bet you're wondering about all my shirts, aren't you? Disney was this magical place for me. I've never believed in fairy tales or in princes that slay dragons and rescue damsels from towers, but there was something about walking into that place with my mom and dad that made me feel like I'd stepped into this whole other world. I know that's the point of the place, but at six or eight or ten, all you see is colors and hear sounds, and smell things that shouldn't be possible but are.
I remember never being happier than when we were at Disney. The t-shirts started with our very first visit when I was five and just took off from there. Every birthday, every Christmas, every visit and sometimes just because, I got a new shirt. Sometimes they'd have a picture of my favorite character at the time, sometimes it was because a new movie came out, or an old one that was released on DVD.Sometimes it was because my dad liked the picture on the front. It didn't matter; all that mattered was they came from him and were our special thing.
I have every shirt I've ever gotten from him, even the ones that are threadbare and the pictures have faded so much you can hardly tell what's on them. But they're a part of him and I can't let them go.
My mom kept up what he started, I think because she has never stopped loving my dad. She loves Phil, don't get me wrong, and until her accident, they were very, very happy, but my dad was her one great love. When she and Phil got married five years ago, I didn't really understand how that could be possible, but now I know how lucky she is to have loved and been loved in return by two great men.
So, at night, when I talk to mom, I think and remember and talk about my dad or what I'm afraid of, or a memory that's been on my mind a lot. I use the shirts as my way to remember and connect and feel close to him and to her, and to never forget what it was like to be a family, to know where I belonged and that I'd always have two people who would always love me. It's probably strange and might not make sense, but it helps. Luckily for me, Dad bought me plenty of shirts that I could use as night shirts and I haven't grown very much since he died so I have some that still fit. The ones that don't far outweigh the ones that do, and when the time comes that there aren't any left, I have no idea what I'll do.
Silly, huh?
Don't answer that … no wait, do. Once I knew you were out there watching me, I wondered what you would think of the shirts. I only wear them when I go outside, and only at night. Playing makes me feel closer to my dad since he was the one that taught me. I play for me though, and now I suppose I play for you, too.
You asked me what I wanted? I'm not sure besides the fact that I don't want to come outside and not see a notebook and not feel you out there watching me. I don't know how it happened, but I need you. You make me feel safe and like I matter. I didn't know how much I lacked that until you showed up.
I don't know how to label you, but do I have to? For now, I think I'll just keep you as my Creeper, how's that?
Sometime, someday soon, we're going to have to take the next step and meet face to face. As much as that terrifies me, I can't wait for it to happen either, but is it wrong for me to say that this, what we have right now, I don't want it to end? I don't know if it's possible to have them both, but if it's okay, can we keep doing this?
If I haven't said it already, I'm glad you found me. I didn't know how lost I was until you.
See you soon … or I guess you'll see ME soon,
Bella
P.S. - I haven't decided if I like using Drummer Girl or Bella better. I'll let you know when I figure it out. Which do you like better?
~~~~OOO~~~~OOO~~~~
Chapter 33 - Snow White - Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs
Snow White was very loved by her father. She is kind, sweet, and gentle.
The entire ride home, all the way up the stairs and into my room, I think about the conversation I've just had with Emmett and Jasper. It's not like I haven't thought about it all before, but somehow, like Bella mentioned in her letter, saying things out loud is a hell of a lot different than thinking them to yourself or writing them down on paper.
I drop my soccer bag on the floor and kick my shoes off. Lifting my arm, I sniff and decide a shower's definitely in order before I get down to business. By the time I'm done and dressed in clothes that don't smell like ass, I grab the notebook and a pen and for a change of pace, take it downstairs and out the front door.
The afternoon's dark, charcoal gray storm clouds have moved in and there's a rumble of thunder off in the distance. It's not raining yet, but it will be soon. The wind's picked up just enough to swirl a few leaves and make them skitter along the front porch and to make the air smell wet and like pine trees.
It's a perfect day to spend alone.
I've never really thought of myself as an introvert, and I suppose in the literal sense I'm not. I mean, I love hanging out with Jasper and Emmett, and with Alice and Rose, too. I don't even mind larger groups, but I definitely prefer quiet time over anything loud. I go to parties and stuff because I like seeing my friends and because, well it's Forks, and there aren't a whole lot of options, but I never stay long and I never mind when I'm the first one to go home.
I think Bella and I might have that in common. The thought makes me smile and inordinately happy.
Turning, I move toward the large wicker chair in the corner and settle down in it so I can read her letter and get moving on my own back to her.
Dear Edward,
Gah, did it feel strange to you when you wrote my name the first time? Because, I have to tell you, my hand's shaking like crazy right now and my heart feels like it does after I get done playing a set … ready to fly out of my chest.
Edward, huh?
Not at all what I imagined, I have to be honest, but somehow, I think it's absolutely perfect for you.
I snort, again, and wonder, again, what names she'd imagined. Not sure I'll ever tell her what I came up with for her. I shudder just thinking about it.
You asked me a lot of questions, but I'm going to answer the ones I had prepared myself for and save the others for later. Some of them were unexpected to say the least. Not unwelcome, at all, just so you know, but ones I hadn't really thought about. Wished for maybe, probably, but definitely not expected. Am I rambling again? I am, aren't I? Don't laugh at me. Thanks to you I'm staring at your handwriting, which again, I think rather suits your name as weird as that is to say, and it's making my knee bounce up and down and hands shake a bit … and I know my handwriting isn't nice enough that I can afford for it to be any messier than normal.
Bet you think so, too, don't you? You have to tell me, you know, especially in light of your proclamation that we won't hide things from each other. In that whole spirit, um … can I tell you that I'm a teensy bit freaked out that you've actually seen me up close and personal like. Well, I guess it couldn't have been too close since I don't remember seeing anyone in the store that day and
Here she's marked out a few words, scribbled over them in swirls of ink until I can't tell what she's written. It doesn't matter though, and I laugh, because well, my girl's adorable if not a little bit crazy.
Crap, I just called you out on being honest and not hiding anything and there I go marking stuff out. Not fair I suppose, is it? Okay, the reason I know I don't remember you being there is because when you come here, inside my building, I can always tell. I know you come inside, of course I do, but I can feel it. It's like there's this, I don't even know what to call it, a presence maybe, that you leave behind. It's nice. I like it. It makes me feel safe and … well, I think that's what I was so afraid of the night of your birthday … not feeling like that again.
I sigh and rub my fingertips across my chest and over my heart. The one that's expanded and stretched and is full of nothing but her. Jesus, what this girl does to me.
Anyway, back to answering your questions. First, I guess I'll start with my dad. His name was Charlie and he died when I was 10. Well, he didn't die, he was killed in the line of duty. He was a police officer in Phoenix and was out on patrol one night and got sent to a domestic disturbance call. He and his partner walked in on some high as hell guy waving a gun around at his wife and two little kids, threatening to kill them and then himself. When one of the kids, a little girl who was three, started crying and wet her pants from being so scared, the guy lost it even more and pointed his gun at the kid, and my dad … well, my dad jumped in front of the mom and the kids, and pushed them out of the way right as the guy fired his gun. Dad was wearing a bulletproof vest, but he got shot in the leg, in the femoral artery. They tried to save him, but he didn't even make it to the hospital before he died.
It took me a long time to even understand what had happened to him. A part of me still doesn't. He was my whole world, my hero. I loved, love, my mom, but my dad was everything to me. We were so happy, that I remember. My mom didn't really like him being a policeman, I remember that, too, but I also remember him talking to me about what he did one day when I was about nine and telling me how it was what he was meant to do, to help people.
He was this larger than life man with arms that felt like steel and hands and fingers that were scarred and gnarled, but were as gentle as a feather when covering up my many cuts and scrapes with Band-Aids. Looking back on it, I suppose he was intimidating, but I never thought that. He was a big guy. He had a mustache and he always smelled like coffee and Old Spice and butterscotch … they were his favorite candy and he always had some in his pocket. Whenever we would play hide and seek, I could always find him because the cellophane crinkled in his pockets when he would walk. I never told him that, but I think he probably knew.
He worked a lot, but I don't remember thinking that because when he was off, our days were full. Arizona Diamondback baseball games, camping in the desert, tea parties in my room, basketball in our driveway, long walks that included a stop for ice cream. When he didn't work, my mom used that time to do whatever new hobby she'd found: water aerobics, pottery class, learning how to speak Japanese. You name it, she's tried it.
We vacationed in the mountains and took long trips to California to go to Disneyland ... at least a few times a year. Bet you're wondering about all my shirts, aren't you? Disney was this magical place for me. I've never believed in fairy tales or in princes that slay dragons and rescue damsels from towers, but there was something about walking into that place with my mom and dad that made me feel like I'd stepped into this whole other world. I know that's the point of the place, but at six or eight or ten, all you see is colors and hear sounds, and smell things that shouldn't be possible but are.
I remember never being happier than when we were at Disney. The t-shirts started with our very first visit when I was five and just took off from there. Every birthday, every Christmas, every visit and sometimes just because, I got a new shirt. Sometimes they'd have a picture of my favorite character at the time, sometimes it was because a new movie came out, or an old one that was released on DVD.Sometimes it was because my dad liked the picture on the front. It didn't matter; all that mattered was they came from him and were our special thing.
I have every shirt I've ever gotten from him, even the ones that are threadbare and the pictures have faded so much you can hardly tell what's on them. But they're a part of him and I can't let them go.
My mom kept up what he started, I think because she has never stopped loving my dad. She loves Phil, don't get me wrong, and until her accident, they were very, very happy, but my dad was her one great love. When she and Phil got married five years ago, I didn't really understand how that could be possible, but now I know how lucky she is to have loved and been loved in return by two great men.
So, at night, when I talk to mom, I think and remember and talk about my dad or what I'm afraid of, or a memory that's been on my mind a lot. I use the shirts as my way to remember and connect and feel close to him and to her, and to never forget what it was like to be a family, to know where I belonged and that I'd always have two people who would always love me. It's probably strange and might not make sense, but it helps. Luckily for me, Dad bought me plenty of shirts that I could use as night shirts and I haven't grown very much since he died so I have some that still fit. The ones that don't far outweigh the ones that do, and when the time comes that there aren't any left, I have no idea what I'll do.
Silly, huh?
Don't answer that … no wait, do. Once I knew you were out there watching me, I wondered what you would think of the shirts. I only wear them when I go outside, and only at night. Playing makes me feel closer to my dad since he was the one that taught me. I play for me though, and now I suppose I play for you, too.
You asked me what I wanted? I'm not sure besides the fact that I don't want to come outside and not see a notebook and not feel you out there watching me. I don't know how it happened, but I need you. You make me feel safe and like I matter. I didn't know how much I lacked that until you showed up.
I don't know how to label you, but do I have to? For now, I think I'll just keep you as my Creeper, how's that?
Sometime, someday soon, we're going to have to take the next step and meet face to face. As much as that terrifies me, I can't wait for it to happen either, but is it wrong for me to say that this, what we have right now, I don't want it to end? I don't know if it's possible to have them both, but if it's okay, can we keep doing this?
If I haven't said it already, I'm glad you found me. I didn't know how lost I was until you.
See you soon … or I guess you'll see ME soon,
Bella
P.S. - I haven't decided if I like using Drummer Girl or Bella better. I'll let you know when I figure it out. Which do you like better?
~~~~OOO~~~~OOO~~~~
Watching Her Chapter 32 - Little John
~~~~OOO~~~~OOO~~~~
Chapter 32 - Little John - Robin Hood
Little John appears to be more cautious than Robin Hood and often reminds his friend of potential consequences of his plans. He is loyal, jovial, strong, and big-hearted.
"Okay, so let me get this straight," Emmett says as he looks me right in the eyes. He holds up his left hand, fingers curled into a fist. "You saw some girl drive through town one day and couldn't stop thinking about her." Up goes the index finger. "You went for a run because you couldn't sleep, heard something, went to see what it was, and stumbled across her playing the drums at two in the fucking morning." Next the middle finger; that one is accompanied by a smirk. "You kept going back, every night, same time, same place to watch her … like just stand there in the dark and watch?" He quirks an eyebrow and waits, not saying a word and his eyes never leave mine until I nod. He lifts his ring finger. "You bought her drumsticks, left a note, and started some notebook switching thing as your only means of communication because somehow walking up to the girl and I don't know, introducing yourself, just wouldn't be right."
Jasper snorts, enjoying my discomfort way too fucking much and I glare at him. He's sitting across the table from me, his arms crossed over his chest, and a gleam in his eye. Asshole. If I can figure out a way to do it, I'm so making him pay for this.
Yeah, yeah, it's all my own fault, but still.
Emmett clears his throat and lifts the pinky finger, wiggling it to be a jackass. "You skip practice, go without sleep, skulk around the hospital, don't tell your best friends what's going on until you get drunk on your birthday and spill the beans. You miss a night of watching her, and somehow that's the equivalent of the Apocalypse and this causes you to go into a full blown panic." He shakes his head at me and then turns to look at Jasper who simply raises one shoulder, like he has no idea either.
The thumb is last, sticking straight out. "And lastly, you finally have some information, which you won't and say you can't tell us, yet you somehow have a container of the most fuckawesome cookies I've ever seen in my life from the mystery drummer girl, Bella … yes I peeked when I was in your room yesterday … and now you're sporting the biggest fucking smile I've ever seen from you, like you should be shooting rainbows and shit out of your ass or something." He holds all five fingers up, waving it back and forth. "Does that about cover it?"
I fold my arms on the table in front of me and lower my head. "More or less," I mumble, though I know they both can hear me.
I keep my head down until he flicks me on top of the head. "Ow, fucker," I snarl when I jerk my head up.
He's goading me on purpose, I know he is, and yes, I deserve it, but the dude has fingers made of cement. I swear he does.
"More … or less?"
I sigh and sit up, slouching against the booth on my side of the table. "That covers just about everything."
None of us say anything for a few minutes and I look around the diner. The usual non-crowd is here; just a few tables are occupied. Sue, our normal waitress, comes by the table and drops off refills of all our drinks and with a look to make sure we don't need anything else, she leaves us alone again.
"Ed, man, I don't know whether to give you a high-five or kick your sorry ass. You know this whole thing is totally … I want to say fucked-up but it's not that, it's just … I've never … just damn." He finally huffs and presses his lips closed together.
We've been here almost two hours, and I'm actually pretty surprised he's run out of things to say. He had plenty when we started, most of it wasn't too nice to be honest, but I took it because I knew it was wrong to have kept him in the dark for so long. Jasper has always let me work things out in my own time and go to him when I'm ready. Em not so much … but that's only because he lives his life in the moment, and jumps well before he thinks.
He always has.
"Uh … what are you going to do when your mom and dad come home? They'll be here in only a couple of days, right? There's no way you can keep up your peeping activities until we leave for camp," Emmett states bluntly.
I sigh. It's not a topic that I'm particularly fond of thinking about.
I glance out the window and fidget with the napkin, tearing pieces off and rolling them between my fingers. "I don't know. I know I can't not see Bella, so I guess maybe I'll try to go when Dad's working nights. That should be a few times a week," I trail off, hating the thought already.
"Edward," Emmett says softly, or softly for him.
I raise both of my hands and shake my head. "I know, all right? I fucking know. Something's gotta give, but I have to give Bella time. You guys have no idea what she's going through. None. I know none of this makes any God damned sense, but it is what it is. I like to watch her. She likes me to watch. We talk, we just do it by pen and paper instead of over the phone or on the computer."
"Or face to face," Jasper interjects with a pointed look.
My shoulders sag because as much as I want to argue with him, I can't. "Or face to face," I agree reluctantly.
I turn and stare out the window, not seeing anything, but unable to look at them any longer. "She knows me, in a way no one else does, and I know things about her she's never told anyone else. There's something between us, and I know it doesn't make any sense to you two, but it does to me. I also know that had we met under different circumstances, this, whatever it is," I say with a wave of my hand, "wouldn't be the same. I don't know how I know, I just do. Do I want her to know what I look like? Sure I do. Do I want to be able to be closer to her than fifty feet? Of course. Do I want to introduce her to you guys and to Alice and Rose and hang out and go to the beach and to the movies? Hell yes, but she can't do that. Not right now, maybe not for a long time."
I take a deep breath and then turn back toward them, thinking about her letter at home … the one I still have to reply to. Last night when I dropped off my notebook with my letter inside thanking her for my, as Emmett verbosely just described, fuckawesome cookies, and picked up hers, I honestly had never been so scared in my life. Watching her play last night couldn't even ease the huge knot that made it hard to breathe. Every few seconds I'd glance down at the notebook in my hand, the one that has answers and replies back to all the things I'd asked and I had a hard fucking time deciding if I just wanted to hurry home so I could read, or put off knowing as long as possible.
I opted for waiting, because, well, Bella's fucking hot when she plays and I like watching.
"I have to be patient, which is frustrating and really fucking hard sometimes, but Bella's worth it. I feel it; I know it. I'm sorry for keeping you two in the dark for so long, I just didn't know what to tell you. I mean, it is nuts and crazy and makes no sense, but it's working … for now at least. I have no idea what's going to happen when Mom and Dad get home, and I really don't know what to do when I leave for camp, but I'll deal with it when it comes. Maybe Bella will let me call her or text her. I don't know, but I do know she needs me and I need to be there for her. I will be there for her." The last word is said in barely more than a whisper.
There's an awkward silence for a few minutes as the weight of what I've just said settles over the table, but when Emmett gets a text, the tension's broken and we all get up.
After we pay the check, we walk outside. I know they both want to say something, but they don't need to. I know it, they know it, so I wave goodbye and get in my car to head home, thinking of Bella the whole way.
I wasn't sure what I wanted to say back to her, but after talking to Emmett and Jasper, words are screaming to get out.
I hurry. I have lots to say.
~~~~OOO~~~~OOO~~~~
Chapter 32 - Little John - Robin Hood
Little John appears to be more cautious than Robin Hood and often reminds his friend of potential consequences of his plans. He is loyal, jovial, strong, and big-hearted.
"Okay, so let me get this straight," Emmett says as he looks me right in the eyes. He holds up his left hand, fingers curled into a fist. "You saw some girl drive through town one day and couldn't stop thinking about her." Up goes the index finger. "You went for a run because you couldn't sleep, heard something, went to see what it was, and stumbled across her playing the drums at two in the fucking morning." Next the middle finger; that one is accompanied by a smirk. "You kept going back, every night, same time, same place to watch her … like just stand there in the dark and watch?" He quirks an eyebrow and waits, not saying a word and his eyes never leave mine until I nod. He lifts his ring finger. "You bought her drumsticks, left a note, and started some notebook switching thing as your only means of communication because somehow walking up to the girl and I don't know, introducing yourself, just wouldn't be right."
Jasper snorts, enjoying my discomfort way too fucking much and I glare at him. He's sitting across the table from me, his arms crossed over his chest, and a gleam in his eye. Asshole. If I can figure out a way to do it, I'm so making him pay for this.
Yeah, yeah, it's all my own fault, but still.
Emmett clears his throat and lifts the pinky finger, wiggling it to be a jackass. "You skip practice, go without sleep, skulk around the hospital, don't tell your best friends what's going on until you get drunk on your birthday and spill the beans. You miss a night of watching her, and somehow that's the equivalent of the Apocalypse and this causes you to go into a full blown panic." He shakes his head at me and then turns to look at Jasper who simply raises one shoulder, like he has no idea either.
The thumb is last, sticking straight out. "And lastly, you finally have some information, which you won't and say you can't tell us, yet you somehow have a container of the most fuckawesome cookies I've ever seen in my life from the mystery drummer girl, Bella … yes I peeked when I was in your room yesterday … and now you're sporting the biggest fucking smile I've ever seen from you, like you should be shooting rainbows and shit out of your ass or something." He holds all five fingers up, waving it back and forth. "Does that about cover it?"
I fold my arms on the table in front of me and lower my head. "More or less," I mumble, though I know they both can hear me.
I keep my head down until he flicks me on top of the head. "Ow, fucker," I snarl when I jerk my head up.
He's goading me on purpose, I know he is, and yes, I deserve it, but the dude has fingers made of cement. I swear he does.
"More … or less?"
I sigh and sit up, slouching against the booth on my side of the table. "That covers just about everything."
None of us say anything for a few minutes and I look around the diner. The usual non-crowd is here; just a few tables are occupied. Sue, our normal waitress, comes by the table and drops off refills of all our drinks and with a look to make sure we don't need anything else, she leaves us alone again.
"Ed, man, I don't know whether to give you a high-five or kick your sorry ass. You know this whole thing is totally … I want to say fucked-up but it's not that, it's just … I've never … just damn." He finally huffs and presses his lips closed together.
We've been here almost two hours, and I'm actually pretty surprised he's run out of things to say. He had plenty when we started, most of it wasn't too nice to be honest, but I took it because I knew it was wrong to have kept him in the dark for so long. Jasper has always let me work things out in my own time and go to him when I'm ready. Em not so much … but that's only because he lives his life in the moment, and jumps well before he thinks.
He always has.
"Uh … what are you going to do when your mom and dad come home? They'll be here in only a couple of days, right? There's no way you can keep up your peeping activities until we leave for camp," Emmett states bluntly.
I sigh. It's not a topic that I'm particularly fond of thinking about.
I glance out the window and fidget with the napkin, tearing pieces off and rolling them between my fingers. "I don't know. I know I can't not see Bella, so I guess maybe I'll try to go when Dad's working nights. That should be a few times a week," I trail off, hating the thought already.
"Edward," Emmett says softly, or softly for him.
I raise both of my hands and shake my head. "I know, all right? I fucking know. Something's gotta give, but I have to give Bella time. You guys have no idea what she's going through. None. I know none of this makes any God damned sense, but it is what it is. I like to watch her. She likes me to watch. We talk, we just do it by pen and paper instead of over the phone or on the computer."
"Or face to face," Jasper interjects with a pointed look.
My shoulders sag because as much as I want to argue with him, I can't. "Or face to face," I agree reluctantly.
I turn and stare out the window, not seeing anything, but unable to look at them any longer. "She knows me, in a way no one else does, and I know things about her she's never told anyone else. There's something between us, and I know it doesn't make any sense to you two, but it does to me. I also know that had we met under different circumstances, this, whatever it is," I say with a wave of my hand, "wouldn't be the same. I don't know how I know, I just do. Do I want her to know what I look like? Sure I do. Do I want to be able to be closer to her than fifty feet? Of course. Do I want to introduce her to you guys and to Alice and Rose and hang out and go to the beach and to the movies? Hell yes, but she can't do that. Not right now, maybe not for a long time."
I take a deep breath and then turn back toward them, thinking about her letter at home … the one I still have to reply to. Last night when I dropped off my notebook with my letter inside thanking her for my, as Emmett verbosely just described, fuckawesome cookies, and picked up hers, I honestly had never been so scared in my life. Watching her play last night couldn't even ease the huge knot that made it hard to breathe. Every few seconds I'd glance down at the notebook in my hand, the one that has answers and replies back to all the things I'd asked and I had a hard fucking time deciding if I just wanted to hurry home so I could read, or put off knowing as long as possible.
I opted for waiting, because, well, Bella's fucking hot when she plays and I like watching.
"I have to be patient, which is frustrating and really fucking hard sometimes, but Bella's worth it. I feel it; I know it. I'm sorry for keeping you two in the dark for so long, I just didn't know what to tell you. I mean, it is nuts and crazy and makes no sense, but it's working … for now at least. I have no idea what's going to happen when Mom and Dad get home, and I really don't know what to do when I leave for camp, but I'll deal with it when it comes. Maybe Bella will let me call her or text her. I don't know, but I do know she needs me and I need to be there for her. I will be there for her." The last word is said in barely more than a whisper.
There's an awkward silence for a few minutes as the weight of what I've just said settles over the table, but when Emmett gets a text, the tension's broken and we all get up.
After we pay the check, we walk outside. I know they both want to say something, but they don't need to. I know it, they know it, so I wave goodbye and get in my car to head home, thinking of Bella the whole way.
I wasn't sure what I wanted to say back to her, but after talking to Emmett and Jasper, words are screaming to get out.
I hurry. I have lots to say.
~~~~OOO~~~~OOO~~~~
Watching Her Chapter 31 - Fairy Godmother
~~~~OOO~~~~OOO~~~~
Chapter 31 - Fairy Godmother - Cinderella
The Fairy Godmother is very sweet and kind and a motherly type of person.
"Mmmm, I love cookie baking days." Maggie smiles as she walks into the kitchen.
I concentrate on stirring the soft butter into the flour and sugar, and inhale the vanilla as I pour it. I try not to notice the eyes I can feel on me as Maggie watches, silently.
Out of the corner of my eye I can see her peer at the pile of cookie cutters beside me, taking note of the fact that some of these haven't been used before. God, please don't let her ask me about them, I chant in my mind, still stirring, still avoiding.
I chance a peek at her from beneath my hair that's fallen, thankful she's moved toward the large table in the corner of the kitchen. I try to ignore the sudden bubble of bitterness clawing its way up my throat when she sits down at a table made for six … as if there will ever be a time when so many sit at one time in this house.
Stirring done, I spread some flour across the island and scoop the ball of dough out of the bowl. I roll it out, enjoying the slight burn in my arms from pressing down so hard. Maggie clears her throat, and I stop, mid-roll, and lift my head to look at her.
"Did you just feel like baking today, or is there a special reason? You know you just sent cookies up to the hospital yesterday?" Maggie accents the last word so it's more of a question than a statement.
Shit.
I should have known she'd pick up on that. I try to feign nonchalance even though inside my stomach's sort of twisting and my heart's racing.
"Ummm, no, not any special reason. Just feel like baking I guess," I mumble and look back down and watch the rolling pin as it moves back and forth across the golden cookie dough.
"Hmmm." I can tell, and she knows I can, that she doesn't believe me, but I let out a sigh of relief when she says no more.
Maggie is well aware of why I bake. The nurses, doctors, and staff at the hospital, as both she and Kate have told me numerous times, are very grateful for my somewhat odd form of therapy, since they get to reap the benefits. Growing up, my mom always used to bake sugar cookies at least a few times a week. They were my after-school snack, before bed treat, midnight craving, and every now and then they were even a breakfast substitute. There were always sugar cookies in our house. Sometimes they were plain. Sometimes covered with vanilla frosting. When Mom was feeling particularly artistic or ambitious, they'd be so beautifully decorated that they made you just stop and stare, almost too afraid to eat them. So, now, I bake sugar cookies, just so the house smells the way it used to. It's silly maybe, but it's a way for me to feel closer to my mom and to remember my dad and a time when my house was filled with love and laughter and family … not this cold, practically empty, almost silent existence that I live in now. I have a sugar cookie-scented candle in my room, one of those wickless things that's not really a candle but melted wax, that stays on almost twenty-four-seven, but it can't compare to the way fresh-baked, right out of the oven cookies smell.
So I bake.
And today, I'm making cookies for him. For my Creeper.
"Well, whatever the reason, they, as always, smell delicious. I'm sure they won't go to waste," she prods again, hoping I'll take the bait and give her more.
The urge is strong. I love Maggie, I do, and I know she worries about me. I see the way her mouth turns down and the way her eyes pinch when she looks at me sometimes. I feel her brush my hair back over my shoulder, or kiss the side of my head, choking back words she so wishes to say, but won't. I'd be lost without her. She knows this, I know this, but it doesn't negate the fact that I hate why she has to be here in the first place. She doesn't deserve the way I always hold back, but I can't help it. I know I should be, and I am, grateful for all she's done for me and for my mom and Phil … the woman's given up over a year of her life to take care of us, but the sad reality is I wish I'd never met her. It's ugly and hateful to think and it makes me want to throw up to admit it, but it's true. I want to not have to know her at all, because that would mean my mom isn't lying in a bed, here, but not really here.
I feel like such an ungrateful brat sometimes.
So, I'm making cookies, because if he comes back tonight, it will mean I have one person, someone out there, that's just for me.
"Okay, then, sweetie, I'll leave you to it. I need to go take a shower." She reaches across the island and briefly touches the back of my hand and I see her eyes glance at the notebook that's never far from my side.
She's noticed its sudden appearance and the way I carry it everywhere with me, but I know she thinks it's probably some sort of journal … God, I hope so, at least.
I wait until I can't hear her footsteps any longer and then I blow out a long, tension-relieving breath. Alone with my thoughts again, I press the cookie cutters into the flattened dough and carefully lift them from the island and place them on the cookie sheets. Setting the timer on the oven, I close the door with a sigh and smile when I think of what Creeper's face will look like when he sees the cookies.
For a brief moment I contemplate watching for him tonight, just so I can see it for myself, but shake my head. What if he doesn't come back? I couldn't bear to stand at the window, watching, waiting … hoping, and have him not show up.
I sit down on a stool because my knees have suddenly given out. I feel nauseous just thinking about him not coming back. I grab the notebook, flipping it open, so I can read his sweet words and feel close to him.
I skim over the very first few letters and I have to smile just a bit at them. Looking back on it, he must've been ready to have a heart attack the very first time he walked into my building. Now I can appreciate how scared he was, but how determined, too … and how thankful I am he took that first step.
My fingers trace over his words and I turn a few more pages, stopping so I can reread a few of my favorite comments from him.
Drummer Girl,
No matter how many times I see this written, it never fails to make my heart stutter step in my chest.
Okay, since you answered my questions … and chimichangas? Truly? (You're definitely going to have to explain that one day) I guess it's only fair to answer the same ones myself. Um, favorite food. I could be predictable and say pizza, which I'm a guy, so of course I love it, but really, if I had to only pick one it would be peanut butter and bananas. I could eat that every meal, every day, I swear I could. Well, probably not really, but you know what I mean.
Your favorite color is red; mine's blue.
My mom taught me how to play the piano, but I taught myself how to play the guitar. I used to hate piano lessons. I'd always much rather be outside playing soccer with my friends, but I couldn't imagine my life without music in it now. I love soccer, don't get me wrong, and I hope to play professionally, maybe, someday, but music will always be a part of me. Do you feel that way about the drums?
I have to say it'd be really fucking tragic if you ever stopped playing.
The boy does love to watch me play, no doubt about it. I can't say I mind it, either. Now that we've established this pattern we have, and now that we're … whatever we are … I find myself wanting - needing - to play for him.
I flip a few pages ahead and sigh. He's so sweet, in an almost uncanny way, and it should scare me, I think, but it most definitely doesn't.
Drummer Girl,
You looked … ah hell, you looked so pretty tonight.
God, I sound like such a tool saying that, but it's the fucking truth. And tease … man you sure know how to tease a guy. Not that I mind, so please don't you dare stop.
Someone's Watching Me, huh? Nice touch, I liked it.
Did I tell you, you looked pretty and happy and well, just all around amazing tonight?
What happened? Was it something good? Is it totally douchey of me to say I hope it had to do with me, maybe just a little bit?
Thank God you can't see me right now, that's all I'm saying.
Christ, you drive me crazy …
#18
And … cue more sighs, because really, how can I not?
A few more pages ahead and I look over his letter from his birthday, the second time he apologized, which was needed less than the first time. Admittedly, when I walked outside and saw that there wasn't a different notebook waiting on my stool, I was frozen in place. My stomach roiled and I clamped a hand over my mouth, the sense of hurt and aching loneliness that erupted was enough to make me feel sick. I started to move, to walk toward the trees beside my building to see if I could find him, because the thought of him not being out there scared me to fucking death. I hated that and irrationally I hated him, for all of thirty seconds, for making me feel that way. Of course I didn't hate him, but I did miss him. I can feel when he's out there now, and I could definitely tell when he wasn't.
It's still a little scary to think about what that means, because I know he won't always be here. I know his parents are coming home soon, he hasn't said exactly when yet, but this whatever it is, can't go on this way indefinitely.
Not sure how I feel about that yet. It's only been a few weeks and already I can't imagine not having him out there.
I recall my words to him, saying pretty much that exact same thing, because even though he didn't show up that night, I still wrote to him. I have to now. It's addicting, it's cathartic, and I hope we don't ever stop doing it. I can tell him things in our notebooks I'd never, ever be able to say out loud, not even over the phone, and I know for a fact I'd never be as open, at least not this quickly, or let myself be so vulnerable, face to face.
But his words, they move me. They urge me to poke at wounds, long since scabbed over, and expose them to the elements, or more specifically him. The thing that's most terrifying? I want him to know me. I try not to want it so badly, but I can't help it.
He might have mentioned it first, but almost from the very beginning I felt something. A pull. A presence. A sense of peace and warmth and comfort that I've never felt with anyone but him. It's wonderful and scary and it makes me want things I'm not sure I should, but I can't help wanting anyway.
Drummer Girl,
No matter what you say, I still feel like shit for not showing up the other night. I didn't mean to not come to you, and I didn't mean to scare you or upset you. No matter what you tell me, I know I did because if it were me, I'd feel the same way.
Isn't it strange how we've never been face to face, never spoken a word to each other, but yet, you are the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing I think about before falling asleep. Yes, I'm aware that might have something to do with the fact that by the time I make it home and fall into bed, I've just spent hours watching you, memorizing everything about you, but it's still true nonetheless.
What did you write tonight? You looked so sad, so lost and alone and afraid. What scares you so badly? What secrets have you kept inside for so long that it took you hours to write them all down? I know you were talking to me, and not just because you were writing in our notebook either. I could feel it from all the way where I watch you.
I wanted to go to you, a whole fucking lot. It almost, no not almost, it DID hurt watching you for so long sit there and write.
I hope I'm strong enough to help you, because I know whatever took you so long to write down has to be something bad.
I stare at his letter again, even though I think I've read it at least fifteen times since he left it. Once again, I'm torn between being petrified of him and the need to just give in to whatever force is pulling us together. I've told him already that he probably knows me better than anyone. He's never spoken to me, but he sees so much. It's only a matter of time before he knows everything about me.
The timer goes off on the oven, startling me, and I set the notebook down. As I lift the cookies from the sheet and onto the cooling racks I think about what I want to say to him.
He gave me a pen, I'm giving him cookies … and when I see the rectangles, an idea forms and I smile.
I'll also give him some of me, too.
I hope it's enough.
~~~~OOO~~~~OOO~~~~
Chapter 31 - Fairy Godmother - Cinderella
The Fairy Godmother is very sweet and kind and a motherly type of person.
"Mmmm, I love cookie baking days." Maggie smiles as she walks into the kitchen.
I concentrate on stirring the soft butter into the flour and sugar, and inhale the vanilla as I pour it. I try not to notice the eyes I can feel on me as Maggie watches, silently.
Out of the corner of my eye I can see her peer at the pile of cookie cutters beside me, taking note of the fact that some of these haven't been used before. God, please don't let her ask me about them, I chant in my mind, still stirring, still avoiding.
I chance a peek at her from beneath my hair that's fallen, thankful she's moved toward the large table in the corner of the kitchen. I try to ignore the sudden bubble of bitterness clawing its way up my throat when she sits down at a table made for six … as if there will ever be a time when so many sit at one time in this house.
Stirring done, I spread some flour across the island and scoop the ball of dough out of the bowl. I roll it out, enjoying the slight burn in my arms from pressing down so hard. Maggie clears her throat, and I stop, mid-roll, and lift my head to look at her.
"Did you just feel like baking today, or is there a special reason? You know you just sent cookies up to the hospital yesterday?" Maggie accents the last word so it's more of a question than a statement.
Shit.
I should have known she'd pick up on that. I try to feign nonchalance even though inside my stomach's sort of twisting and my heart's racing.
"Ummm, no, not any special reason. Just feel like baking I guess," I mumble and look back down and watch the rolling pin as it moves back and forth across the golden cookie dough.
"Hmmm." I can tell, and she knows I can, that she doesn't believe me, but I let out a sigh of relief when she says no more.
Maggie is well aware of why I bake. The nurses, doctors, and staff at the hospital, as both she and Kate have told me numerous times, are very grateful for my somewhat odd form of therapy, since they get to reap the benefits. Growing up, my mom always used to bake sugar cookies at least a few times a week. They were my after-school snack, before bed treat, midnight craving, and every now and then they were even a breakfast substitute. There were always sugar cookies in our house. Sometimes they were plain. Sometimes covered with vanilla frosting. When Mom was feeling particularly artistic or ambitious, they'd be so beautifully decorated that they made you just stop and stare, almost too afraid to eat them. So, now, I bake sugar cookies, just so the house smells the way it used to. It's silly maybe, but it's a way for me to feel closer to my mom and to remember my dad and a time when my house was filled with love and laughter and family … not this cold, practically empty, almost silent existence that I live in now. I have a sugar cookie-scented candle in my room, one of those wickless things that's not really a candle but melted wax, that stays on almost twenty-four-seven, but it can't compare to the way fresh-baked, right out of the oven cookies smell.
So I bake.
And today, I'm making cookies for him. For my Creeper.
"Well, whatever the reason, they, as always, smell delicious. I'm sure they won't go to waste," she prods again, hoping I'll take the bait and give her more.
The urge is strong. I love Maggie, I do, and I know she worries about me. I see the way her mouth turns down and the way her eyes pinch when she looks at me sometimes. I feel her brush my hair back over my shoulder, or kiss the side of my head, choking back words she so wishes to say, but won't. I'd be lost without her. She knows this, I know this, but it doesn't negate the fact that I hate why she has to be here in the first place. She doesn't deserve the way I always hold back, but I can't help it. I know I should be, and I am, grateful for all she's done for me and for my mom and Phil … the woman's given up over a year of her life to take care of us, but the sad reality is I wish I'd never met her. It's ugly and hateful to think and it makes me want to throw up to admit it, but it's true. I want to not have to know her at all, because that would mean my mom isn't lying in a bed, here, but not really here.
I feel like such an ungrateful brat sometimes.
So, I'm making cookies, because if he comes back tonight, it will mean I have one person, someone out there, that's just for me.
"Okay, then, sweetie, I'll leave you to it. I need to go take a shower." She reaches across the island and briefly touches the back of my hand and I see her eyes glance at the notebook that's never far from my side.
She's noticed its sudden appearance and the way I carry it everywhere with me, but I know she thinks it's probably some sort of journal … God, I hope so, at least.
I wait until I can't hear her footsteps any longer and then I blow out a long, tension-relieving breath. Alone with my thoughts again, I press the cookie cutters into the flattened dough and carefully lift them from the island and place them on the cookie sheets. Setting the timer on the oven, I close the door with a sigh and smile when I think of what Creeper's face will look like when he sees the cookies.
For a brief moment I contemplate watching for him tonight, just so I can see it for myself, but shake my head. What if he doesn't come back? I couldn't bear to stand at the window, watching, waiting … hoping, and have him not show up.
I sit down on a stool because my knees have suddenly given out. I feel nauseous just thinking about him not coming back. I grab the notebook, flipping it open, so I can read his sweet words and feel close to him.
I skim over the very first few letters and I have to smile just a bit at them. Looking back on it, he must've been ready to have a heart attack the very first time he walked into my building. Now I can appreciate how scared he was, but how determined, too … and how thankful I am he took that first step.
My fingers trace over his words and I turn a few more pages, stopping so I can reread a few of my favorite comments from him.
Drummer Girl,
No matter how many times I see this written, it never fails to make my heart stutter step in my chest.
Okay, since you answered my questions … and chimichangas? Truly? (You're definitely going to have to explain that one day) I guess it's only fair to answer the same ones myself. Um, favorite food. I could be predictable and say pizza, which I'm a guy, so of course I love it, but really, if I had to only pick one it would be peanut butter and bananas. I could eat that every meal, every day, I swear I could. Well, probably not really, but you know what I mean.
Your favorite color is red; mine's blue.
My mom taught me how to play the piano, but I taught myself how to play the guitar. I used to hate piano lessons. I'd always much rather be outside playing soccer with my friends, but I couldn't imagine my life without music in it now. I love soccer, don't get me wrong, and I hope to play professionally, maybe, someday, but music will always be a part of me. Do you feel that way about the drums?
I have to say it'd be really fucking tragic if you ever stopped playing.
The boy does love to watch me play, no doubt about it. I can't say I mind it, either. Now that we've established this pattern we have, and now that we're … whatever we are … I find myself wanting - needing - to play for him.
I flip a few pages ahead and sigh. He's so sweet, in an almost uncanny way, and it should scare me, I think, but it most definitely doesn't.
Drummer Girl,
You looked … ah hell, you looked so pretty tonight.
God, I sound like such a tool saying that, but it's the fucking truth. And tease … man you sure know how to tease a guy. Not that I mind, so please don't you dare stop.
Someone's Watching Me, huh? Nice touch, I liked it.
Did I tell you, you looked pretty and happy and well, just all around amazing tonight?
What happened? Was it something good? Is it totally douchey of me to say I hope it had to do with me, maybe just a little bit?
Thank God you can't see me right now, that's all I'm saying.
Christ, you drive me crazy …
#18
And … cue more sighs, because really, how can I not?
A few more pages ahead and I look over his letter from his birthday, the second time he apologized, which was needed less than the first time. Admittedly, when I walked outside and saw that there wasn't a different notebook waiting on my stool, I was frozen in place. My stomach roiled and I clamped a hand over my mouth, the sense of hurt and aching loneliness that erupted was enough to make me feel sick. I started to move, to walk toward the trees beside my building to see if I could find him, because the thought of him not being out there scared me to fucking death. I hated that and irrationally I hated him, for all of thirty seconds, for making me feel that way. Of course I didn't hate him, but I did miss him. I can feel when he's out there now, and I could definitely tell when he wasn't.
It's still a little scary to think about what that means, because I know he won't always be here. I know his parents are coming home soon, he hasn't said exactly when yet, but this whatever it is, can't go on this way indefinitely.
Not sure how I feel about that yet. It's only been a few weeks and already I can't imagine not having him out there.
I recall my words to him, saying pretty much that exact same thing, because even though he didn't show up that night, I still wrote to him. I have to now. It's addicting, it's cathartic, and I hope we don't ever stop doing it. I can tell him things in our notebooks I'd never, ever be able to say out loud, not even over the phone, and I know for a fact I'd never be as open, at least not this quickly, or let myself be so vulnerable, face to face.
But his words, they move me. They urge me to poke at wounds, long since scabbed over, and expose them to the elements, or more specifically him. The thing that's most terrifying? I want him to know me. I try not to want it so badly, but I can't help it.
He might have mentioned it first, but almost from the very beginning I felt something. A pull. A presence. A sense of peace and warmth and comfort that I've never felt with anyone but him. It's wonderful and scary and it makes me want things I'm not sure I should, but I can't help wanting anyway.
Drummer Girl,
No matter what you say, I still feel like shit for not showing up the other night. I didn't mean to not come to you, and I didn't mean to scare you or upset you. No matter what you tell me, I know I did because if it were me, I'd feel the same way.
Isn't it strange how we've never been face to face, never spoken a word to each other, but yet, you are the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing I think about before falling asleep. Yes, I'm aware that might have something to do with the fact that by the time I make it home and fall into bed, I've just spent hours watching you, memorizing everything about you, but it's still true nonetheless.
What did you write tonight? You looked so sad, so lost and alone and afraid. What scares you so badly? What secrets have you kept inside for so long that it took you hours to write them all down? I know you were talking to me, and not just because you were writing in our notebook either. I could feel it from all the way where I watch you.
I wanted to go to you, a whole fucking lot. It almost, no not almost, it DID hurt watching you for so long sit there and write.
I hope I'm strong enough to help you, because I know whatever took you so long to write down has to be something bad.
I stare at his letter again, even though I think I've read it at least fifteen times since he left it. Once again, I'm torn between being petrified of him and the need to just give in to whatever force is pulling us together. I've told him already that he probably knows me better than anyone. He's never spoken to me, but he sees so much. It's only a matter of time before he knows everything about me.
The timer goes off on the oven, startling me, and I set the notebook down. As I lift the cookies from the sheet and onto the cooling racks I think about what I want to say to him.
He gave me a pen, I'm giving him cookies … and when I see the rectangles, an idea forms and I smile.
I'll also give him some of me, too.
I hope it's enough.
~~~~OOO~~~~OOO~~~~
Les16's Mini-Vacation
Monday, April 23, 2012
Hi, all!
Being Erin's PR person, I have an announcement to make. Saturday and Sunday will not have any chapters posted.
Erin has been sending me a chapter a day, if not more than that. We have been editing daily. For the past 31 days, a chapter has been posted without fail.
Conversations such as:
"Wait, does E/B have the right notebook?"
"How many days has he been a stalker?"
"Did B ever tell E her mom's name?"
"WTF are we going to use for a character for THIS chapter??"
Yeah, those convos have happened a lot, especially that FIRST question LOL SO, Erin decided that we are going to take a couple of days off this weekend. Maybe remind ourselves what our hubs (and her kids) look like and just zone out! I'm totally on board with this :) :)
I wanted to tell you as soon as possible that this is happening! Posting will resume on the Monday following our mini-vacation.
Hope you all understand ... I'm sure you do! You all are so incredible and wonderful!!
Enjoy the rest of the week! There are four more chapters posting and goodness there is a lot happening this week so she will leave you in a great spot!!
Hugs and Love!
Laurel
Being Erin's PR person, I have an announcement to make. Saturday and Sunday will not have any chapters posted.
Erin has been sending me a chapter a day, if not more than that. We have been editing daily. For the past 31 days, a chapter has been posted without fail.
Conversations such as:
"Wait, does E/B have the right notebook?"
"How many days has he been a stalker?"
"Did B ever tell E her mom's name?"
"WTF are we going to use for a character for THIS chapter??"
Yeah, those convos have happened a lot, especially that FIRST question LOL SO, Erin decided that we are going to take a couple of days off this weekend. Maybe remind ourselves what our hubs (and her kids) look like and just zone out! I'm totally on board with this :) :)
I wanted to tell you as soon as possible that this is happening! Posting will resume on the Monday following our mini-vacation.
Hope you all understand ... I'm sure you do! You all are so incredible and wonderful!!
Enjoy the rest of the week! There are four more chapters posting and goodness there is a lot happening this week so she will leave you in a great spot!!
Hugs and Love!
Laurel
Watching Her Chapter 30 - Mad Hatter
~~~~OOO~~~~OOO~~~~
Chapter 30 - Mad Hatter - Alice in Wonderland
Come have tea and COOKIES at the tea party!
The walk to Bella's seems very different from all the ones before it. It's not like I'm worried, not really anyway, and I'm not exactly scared, though I suppose I should be. If I had half a brain I would be, but strangely, I'm more excited than anything. I left a lot of myself, most of it in fact, in my words to her and laid everything on the table … my heart most of all.
I've never done that before, and it's pretty fucking terrifying truth be told, but it's time to see what this thing between us can be.
Now all I can do is hope that she doesn't upend the table and stomp all over the broken pieces of my heart when it shatters if that happens.
Most of me thinks she won't, that she feels what I do and is probably just as freaked out and yes, excited, too, by whatever is happening between us … but there's a small part that's pretty damn afraid that I've pushed her too far, too fast. I've been watching her for almost a month now, but she's only known about me for not quite two weeks; of course she's going to be careful. Besides, with all the uncertainty about her mom, and how much she's dealing with, I probably shouldn't even expect too much in the first place.
But I do.
I want it. I want more, but whether she does or is even in a place where she can let me in, is still up in the air. Sure, she told me about her mom, but even in my at times somewhat convoluted mind, I know that was due to her need to talk to someone … anyone. At least in part anyway. Deep down I hope it's a tiny … miniscule … part.
The bay doors are open, silver-white light from the fluorescent bulbs spilling out toward the driveway. Bella's Escalade is in its normal spot and the small gray car from before is again parked beside it. I wonder if it's Maggie's or Kate's? As I get closer to the building I can't help but glance toward the window in the bottom left of the house. I know it's Renée's, even if Bella hasn't told me. I stop and stare at it and try to put myself in Bella's place, put my mom in her mom's and I can't.
It's too hard to even think about.
The notebook in my hand brushes against my leg, and the twisty turny thing in my stomach instantly revs back to life. I hurry inside her building, as if there's an invisible thread pulling me forward. It seems like fucking forever since I've been here, though it was just last night. So much has changed since then.
Everything.
A few steps farther inside and then I stop abruptly.
"Holy shit, it smells like a damn bakery in here," I murmur, ignoring the way my mouth waters from the smell. I close my eyes and turn around in a circle, the aroma too delicious not to inhale deeply over and over again. I stop, only because I start to get dizzy and then my eyes widen in surprise and are riveted to her stool.
"Oh, no, she fucking didn't." I chuckle and shake my head in both happiness and surprise.
And, yes, she really fucking did.
There, sitting on the center of my notebook is a plate of what can only be sugar cookies judging from the concentrated scent of vanilla and butter and sugar. On top there's a piece of paper taped to the foil with the word 'Creeper' written in big, bright purple letters. The fact it's not in black marker catches me off-guard, and I can't help but wonder if there's a significance there.
I walk forward a few steps and carefully set her notebook down on top of the snare drum. I need both hands to peel back the tin foil because there's no way in hell I have enough willpower to wait to try one. God, if they taste as good as they smell …
I have to smile, not that I try to stop myself, when I see the plate and the notebook on top of a clear plastic container along with a bottle of water. Apparently, Bella wants to make sure I plan on staying a while tonight. Then I have to laugh. Holy shit, all these days later and I just now realize that not once since I've been coming to her have I ever brought along something to drink. I've never taken a leak either, and I shudder just thinking about it.
Great … now I have to pee.
Pushing that uncomfortable thought to the back of my mind because yeah, I have a few hours until I can go, I hold my breath while I carefully unwrap the plate. The smell that fills the air can only be described as orgasmic and I let out what has to be the most obscene groan to ever leave my mouth.
"Oh, hell, she's seriously trying to kill me." My voice sounds like something between a groan and a whimper.
Stacked neatly and with extreme precision, as if she'd made a house of cards that would topple with the slightest provocation, are intricately and beautifully decorated sugar cookies: treble clefs, bass clefs, eighth notes, pianos, rectangles covered with snow white frosting and Oreo black music notes painstakingly painted on them. Lemon yellow, cobalt blue, Creamsicle orange, mint green, an explosion of color that's as big a feast for my eyes as the cookies will be for my stomach. Each cookie must have taken her an hour to decorate because they're covered with lines and dots, perfectly spaced, as if each is its own masterpiece.
I've never seen anything so incredible in my life.
They look almost too good to eat.
Almost.
Gingerly, I reach out and pick up a bright orange eighth note cookie and when I take a bite, it literally melts in my mouth.
"Holy … ummpf …" I know my eyes have rolled back into my head and I can tell I've just sprayed crumbs everywhere, but fuck me sideways, I've never tasted anything so good.
I shove the rest of the thing in my mouth and lick the frosting off my fingers. Once I take a swig of water, I get down to business because my time's running out. I grab the notebook beneath the plate because I'm dying to see what she wrote. Things were, and maybe still are, up in the air after last night, but the girl did leave me cookies. That has to be good, right?
Flipping to the newest letter I burst out laughing at her first line:
You gave me a pen, I made you cookies.
God, she's fucking perfect and gorgeous and so mine, even if she doesn't know it yet.
You did say sugar cookies are your favorite, right?
Um … I just wanted to say, well … thank you for listening.
And for coming back.
Especially for coming back.
You didn't have to, but I'm really glad you did. (Because, if you're reading this that means you did and if you didn't well, I can just rip out this page and pretend none of this happened. That would really suck, by the way)
I'm nervous to see what you have to say about what I told you, but I'm glad I did it. It's been a long time coming I guess.
Is it weird for me to say I'm glad it was you I told more than anyone else?
I would say see you soon, but that's your line, huh?
Hope you like the cookies …pay attention to the white ones …
DG
Of course that makes me immediately look down at the white rectangle cookies.
My heart's pretty much beating at least triple-time and I kind of can't breathe. I feel warm all over, but it feels good, a lot like it does when I get into bed and realize there are sheets fresh from the dryer beneath my blankets.
Oh.
Ohhhhhh.
I blink a few times, just to make sure I'm seeing what I think I am.
If I wasn't sure of what I want from Bella, I damned sure am now as I stare at the cookies.
There, painted on the white frosting, are the notes of the song she was playing … my song. Just bits and pieces, combinations, but I'd know that song anywhere. I hear it in my head often enough.
She hasn't played it again, not since that first night, but I can't help but hope that now, I'll finally get my song.
~~~~OOO~~~~OOO~~~~
Chapter 30 - Mad Hatter - Alice in Wonderland
Come have tea and COOKIES at the tea party!
The walk to Bella's seems very different from all the ones before it. It's not like I'm worried, not really anyway, and I'm not exactly scared, though I suppose I should be. If I had half a brain I would be, but strangely, I'm more excited than anything. I left a lot of myself, most of it in fact, in my words to her and laid everything on the table … my heart most of all.
I've never done that before, and it's pretty fucking terrifying truth be told, but it's time to see what this thing between us can be.
Now all I can do is hope that she doesn't upend the table and stomp all over the broken pieces of my heart when it shatters if that happens.
Most of me thinks she won't, that she feels what I do and is probably just as freaked out and yes, excited, too, by whatever is happening between us … but there's a small part that's pretty damn afraid that I've pushed her too far, too fast. I've been watching her for almost a month now, but she's only known about me for not quite two weeks; of course she's going to be careful. Besides, with all the uncertainty about her mom, and how much she's dealing with, I probably shouldn't even expect too much in the first place.
But I do.
I want it. I want more, but whether she does or is even in a place where she can let me in, is still up in the air. Sure, she told me about her mom, but even in my at times somewhat convoluted mind, I know that was due to her need to talk to someone … anyone. At least in part anyway. Deep down I hope it's a tiny … miniscule … part.
The bay doors are open, silver-white light from the fluorescent bulbs spilling out toward the driveway. Bella's Escalade is in its normal spot and the small gray car from before is again parked beside it. I wonder if it's Maggie's or Kate's? As I get closer to the building I can't help but glance toward the window in the bottom left of the house. I know it's Renée's, even if Bella hasn't told me. I stop and stare at it and try to put myself in Bella's place, put my mom in her mom's and I can't.
It's too hard to even think about.
The notebook in my hand brushes against my leg, and the twisty turny thing in my stomach instantly revs back to life. I hurry inside her building, as if there's an invisible thread pulling me forward. It seems like fucking forever since I've been here, though it was just last night. So much has changed since then.
Everything.
A few steps farther inside and then I stop abruptly.
"Holy shit, it smells like a damn bakery in here," I murmur, ignoring the way my mouth waters from the smell. I close my eyes and turn around in a circle, the aroma too delicious not to inhale deeply over and over again. I stop, only because I start to get dizzy and then my eyes widen in surprise and are riveted to her stool.
"Oh, no, she fucking didn't." I chuckle and shake my head in both happiness and surprise.
And, yes, she really fucking did.
There, sitting on the center of my notebook is a plate of what can only be sugar cookies judging from the concentrated scent of vanilla and butter and sugar. On top there's a piece of paper taped to the foil with the word 'Creeper' written in big, bright purple letters. The fact it's not in black marker catches me off-guard, and I can't help but wonder if there's a significance there.
I walk forward a few steps and carefully set her notebook down on top of the snare drum. I need both hands to peel back the tin foil because there's no way in hell I have enough willpower to wait to try one. God, if they taste as good as they smell …
I have to smile, not that I try to stop myself, when I see the plate and the notebook on top of a clear plastic container along with a bottle of water. Apparently, Bella wants to make sure I plan on staying a while tonight. Then I have to laugh. Holy shit, all these days later and I just now realize that not once since I've been coming to her have I ever brought along something to drink. I've never taken a leak either, and I shudder just thinking about it.
Great … now I have to pee.
Pushing that uncomfortable thought to the back of my mind because yeah, I have a few hours until I can go, I hold my breath while I carefully unwrap the plate. The smell that fills the air can only be described as orgasmic and I let out what has to be the most obscene groan to ever leave my mouth.
"Oh, hell, she's seriously trying to kill me." My voice sounds like something between a groan and a whimper.
Stacked neatly and with extreme precision, as if she'd made a house of cards that would topple with the slightest provocation, are intricately and beautifully decorated sugar cookies: treble clefs, bass clefs, eighth notes, pianos, rectangles covered with snow white frosting and Oreo black music notes painstakingly painted on them. Lemon yellow, cobalt blue, Creamsicle orange, mint green, an explosion of color that's as big a feast for my eyes as the cookies will be for my stomach. Each cookie must have taken her an hour to decorate because they're covered with lines and dots, perfectly spaced, as if each is its own masterpiece.
I've never seen anything so incredible in my life.
They look almost too good to eat.
Almost.
Gingerly, I reach out and pick up a bright orange eighth note cookie and when I take a bite, it literally melts in my mouth.
"Holy … ummpf …" I know my eyes have rolled back into my head and I can tell I've just sprayed crumbs everywhere, but fuck me sideways, I've never tasted anything so good.
I shove the rest of the thing in my mouth and lick the frosting off my fingers. Once I take a swig of water, I get down to business because my time's running out. I grab the notebook beneath the plate because I'm dying to see what she wrote. Things were, and maybe still are, up in the air after last night, but the girl did leave me cookies. That has to be good, right?
Flipping to the newest letter I burst out laughing at her first line:
You gave me a pen, I made you cookies.
God, she's fucking perfect and gorgeous and so mine, even if she doesn't know it yet.
You did say sugar cookies are your favorite, right?
Um … I just wanted to say, well … thank you for listening.
And for coming back.
Especially for coming back.
You didn't have to, but I'm really glad you did. (Because, if you're reading this that means you did and if you didn't well, I can just rip out this page and pretend none of this happened. That would really suck, by the way)
I'm nervous to see what you have to say about what I told you, but I'm glad I did it. It's been a long time coming I guess.
Is it weird for me to say I'm glad it was you I told more than anyone else?
I would say see you soon, but that's your line, huh?
Hope you like the cookies …pay attention to the white ones …
DG
Of course that makes me immediately look down at the white rectangle cookies.
My heart's pretty much beating at least triple-time and I kind of can't breathe. I feel warm all over, but it feels good, a lot like it does when I get into bed and realize there are sheets fresh from the dryer beneath my blankets.
Oh.
Ohhhhhh.
I blink a few times, just to make sure I'm seeing what I think I am.
If I wasn't sure of what I want from Bella, I damned sure am now as I stare at the cookies.
There, painted on the white frosting, are the notes of the song she was playing … my song. Just bits and pieces, combinations, but I'd know that song anywhere. I hear it in my head often enough.
She hasn't played it again, not since that first night, but I can't help but hope that now, I'll finally get my song.
~~~~OOO~~~~OOO~~~~
Watching Her Chapter 29 - Archimedes
~~~~OOO~~~~OOO~~~~
Chapter 29 - Archimedes - The Sword in the Stone
Though he is loyal to Merlin, he is not afraid to point out the Wizard's shortcomings and often does.
I wake slowly, gingerly stretching muscles tight from being held in the same position for way too long. I keep my eyes closed, but I can tell the sun's shining due to the red behind my eyelids. It's hot in my room, and I feel like I do when I get out of shower. Testing, I crack one eye open and cringe at both the time and the so-bright-it-hurts-my-eyes sunshine.
It doesn't seem right for the sun to shine today.
My phone rings, Jasper's ringtone of Rhinestone Cowboy a most unwelcome intrusion on my morning.
"Yeah?" I rasp, my throat scratchy and my voice as rough as sandpaper.
"Well aren't you just a big, old ball of warm and fuzzy this morning?" he teases, but it falls flat when there's nothing but silence on my end.
I don't mean to be an asshole, but I'm not in the mood for levity this morning.
"Edward?"
His tone is cautious and tinged with worry … and it makes me feel about an inch tall. Fuck. I huff, and say a brusque, "Sorry."
"No problem. Now what's wrong? Are you okay? Is it Bella?"
I still don't say anything, but I know he'll wait for me to be ready to talk. He always does. "Yes, it's Bella, and no I'm not fucking okay."
My eyes slide toward the notebook and my unfinished letter to her. With time to think … or I suppose dream since I don't even remember falling asleep and I've only been awake less than ten minutes, a ton of questions I want to ask Bella are churning in my mind.
I huff again, agitated for wasting time talking to him when I want to be talking, well writing, to Bella. It's a shitty thing to admit, but there are times when being best friends with someone as long as we've been allows you to be selfish and a prick. He's done it to me before when some crisis has come up with Alice, though I know for a damn fact he hasn't had to deal with something like this. Hell, no one I know has … and let's not even mention the fact Bella hasn't ever laid eyes on me or even knows my name.
What a fucking nightmare.
"Look, man, I gotta go. I'm not going to be at practice today, maybe not even tomorrow," I tell him.
"Edward," he says in that way, the one where I can feel his disapproval through the phone and immediately I'm pissed.
"Fuck, Jasper. I just can't, okay? It's only two days," I tell him, and patently ignore the guilt that washes over me.
He sighs, a loud, wheezing one that I'm sure is meant to convey lots of things he wants to say but smartly keeps to himself. It's not like I don't know it all already anyway.
Silence stretches. I can hear him breathing, can practically hear him thinking, and finally just explode. "Jesus Christ, Jasper. What do you want me to do? Just ignore Bella so I can go practice for a few hours. I can't. You don't know, you don't understand … she's … I just can't."
I pinch the bridge of my nose so tightly I'm sure there are indentations from my fingernails embedded in the skin. "I know I need to practice, and I will, just not today. One or two days isn't going to kill me," I tell him, and struggle to ignore the taunting smart ass voice in the back of my mind telling me Yeah, right, jackass.
"I hope you know what you're doing, man. You've wanted this for too long to blow it now." I can hear him clear his throat and I brace myself for what's coming next. I know what he's going to say before the words even come out.
"I have to say this because I'm your best friend, even if it pisses you off. If you let this obsession, or whatever the hell you want to call it, with Bella get in the way of what you've dreamed about for almost as long as I've known you, I will kick your ass. I know she's important to you, but you hardly know her, Edward. In fact, you don't know her, and she doesn't know you. You've shared a few letters or whatever, but come the fuck on. You haven't even met face to face and you're slacking on getting ready for camp, which just in case you've forgotten, is only the biggest, most important thing of your life so far. It's just … I really hope she's worth it," he trails off, and I can feel his concern and his frustration.
"She needs me, Jasper. I can't explain it any simpler than that. I know I need to get ready and I will, I promise."
"Yeah, well, I sure the fuck hope so. Your parents will be home in a few days, don't forget that. You can't keep spending all night watching her, I don't care how hot you think she is or how much you think she needs you. You have a life, and you had plans before she showed up a few weeks ago … don't forget that either."
I squeeze my eyes closed and breathe in and out a few times before I answer quietly, "I won't."
"Good. I'll tell Em about practice. If you need me, I'm here, try to remember that, okay? Emmett, too."
He hangs up before I have a chance to say anything else, though for now I've said pretty much all I have to say.
I toss my phone on my bed and turn from the notebook calling to me to finish my letter. I'm not ready yet, not with everything Jasper just told me turning around and around in my mind. I spend a few hours doing everything but not thinking about … anything. I fix some breakfast. I do some laundry. Despite what Jasper insinuated, or maybe because of it, I go for a run, in the complete opposite direction from Bella's. I have my iPod and turn it up as loud as it can go, loud enough to drown out the frenzy going on in my head. I concentrate. I listen to the rhythmic pound of my feet against the ground, the steady thump of my heart against my chest. I feel sweat pour down the side of my face and pool at the small of my back. I welcome the burn in my muscles and the spike of adrenaline that spreads with each stride.
I run until I can't go any further. By the time I'm standing under water so hot it almost feels cold, my mind is calm … focused.
Again I sit in the middle of my bed. I pick up the notebook and begin to write, letting everything I've held inside for the past few weeks out in a torrent of words.
I'm back, but you probably couldn't tell that I ever left, huh?
Bella, I have to tell you that after sleeping for a bit and messing around my house and stuff, it's afternoon now in case you were wondering, knowing about your mom is just as bad now as it was when I read it the first time. I don't mean to make you upset, but damn, what a messed up thing to happen.
You know, and God I hope this doesn't make me sound like a jackass, but when I woke up this morning … well late this morning, the first thing I wanted to do, and did, was text my mom and tell her I love her. The next thing I did … was feel horrible because you can't do the same thing. And you should be able to. The fact you can't just really sucks.
I want to help you, be there for you … be your friend … be more to you if that's what you want.
I know we don't know each other, but like you said, maybe we know each other better than anyone else. I sure as hell spend more time thinking about you than anyone else. I really hope that doesn't freak you out, but at this point, I think it's probably pretty clear that there's something between us. I have no freaking idea what it is, all I know is I've never felt this way about anyone before … ever. And in case you were wondering, I don't make a habit of watching girls in the middle of the night.
Not until you anyway.
It's scary as fuck and confusing, and at times I feel like I've gone insane, but then I see you and nothing else matters. I have plans and things I'm supposed to be doing and getting ready for, and I won't say that they don't matter as much as you do, because they do, but I see things differently now. I don't know exactly how that's possible, seeing as how you've never even see me (You still haven't looked out your window at all? Not once? I can't decide if that makes me happy or makes things even weirder) or talked to me or heard my voice.
I saw you once, in the Thriftway, a few weeks back. I about shit my pants, to be honest. I wanted to talk to you so badly, but was afraid that I'd scare you. To make myself sound like an even bigger idiot, I was afraid of ruining whatever this is we have going on. I'm not going to lie to you anymore, not that I've lied at all just so you know, but I think we're past the point of hiding things, don't you think?
Bella, what do you want from me?
I don't want to push you, but you have to know you're driving me crazy, in a mostly good way, but absolutely crazy just the same. Can I tell you what I want? I want to be there for you because it seems like you're so alone. I want to be able to hold your hand when you get scared, and I want to give a shoulder to lean on or cry on when you're having a bad day. I want to see you smile from up close instead of from always so far away.
I want to be whatever you need me to be.
I know you're dealing with a lot, more than anyone should have to handle by themselves, and I can tell there's more you haven't told me. I'll be patient and not push, or I'll try to be, but you can tell me all of it. I'm not going to leave … seriously, where am I going to go? Forks isn't exactly a metropolis, and it's not like we won't run into each other at some point. You know that will happen sooner or later, right? Maybe not anytime in the near future, but when school starts it will for sure.
You will still be here, won't you? Fuck, I didn't even think of that. I mean, Phil just got traded to the Mariners; it won't happen again, will it?
And … um … don't hate me but what happens to you if your mom passes away? Will Phil make you move to Seattle? I don't want you to go.
Tell me what you need, Bella, and I'll do it. I want to, please believe me when I say that.
I'm not running away. I'm not leaving. You can trust me, I promise.
'Til tonight,
Edward
P.S. - You can keep calling me Creeper if you want, it's kind of grown on me, but just like I want to know you, I want YOU to know ME.
~~~~OOO~~~~OOO~~~~
Chapter 29 - Archimedes - The Sword in the Stone
Though he is loyal to Merlin, he is not afraid to point out the Wizard's shortcomings and often does.
I wake slowly, gingerly stretching muscles tight from being held in the same position for way too long. I keep my eyes closed, but I can tell the sun's shining due to the red behind my eyelids. It's hot in my room, and I feel like I do when I get out of shower. Testing, I crack one eye open and cringe at both the time and the so-bright-it-hurts-my-eyes sunshine.
It doesn't seem right for the sun to shine today.
My phone rings, Jasper's ringtone of Rhinestone Cowboy a most unwelcome intrusion on my morning.
"Yeah?" I rasp, my throat scratchy and my voice as rough as sandpaper.
"Well aren't you just a big, old ball of warm and fuzzy this morning?" he teases, but it falls flat when there's nothing but silence on my end.
I don't mean to be an asshole, but I'm not in the mood for levity this morning.
"Edward?"
His tone is cautious and tinged with worry … and it makes me feel about an inch tall. Fuck. I huff, and say a brusque, "Sorry."
"No problem. Now what's wrong? Are you okay? Is it Bella?"
I still don't say anything, but I know he'll wait for me to be ready to talk. He always does. "Yes, it's Bella, and no I'm not fucking okay."
My eyes slide toward the notebook and my unfinished letter to her. With time to think … or I suppose dream since I don't even remember falling asleep and I've only been awake less than ten minutes, a ton of questions I want to ask Bella are churning in my mind.
I huff again, agitated for wasting time talking to him when I want to be talking, well writing, to Bella. It's a shitty thing to admit, but there are times when being best friends with someone as long as we've been allows you to be selfish and a prick. He's done it to me before when some crisis has come up with Alice, though I know for a damn fact he hasn't had to deal with something like this. Hell, no one I know has … and let's not even mention the fact Bella hasn't ever laid eyes on me or even knows my name.
What a fucking nightmare.
"Look, man, I gotta go. I'm not going to be at practice today, maybe not even tomorrow," I tell him.
"Edward," he says in that way, the one where I can feel his disapproval through the phone and immediately I'm pissed.
"Fuck, Jasper. I just can't, okay? It's only two days," I tell him, and patently ignore the guilt that washes over me.
He sighs, a loud, wheezing one that I'm sure is meant to convey lots of things he wants to say but smartly keeps to himself. It's not like I don't know it all already anyway.
Silence stretches. I can hear him breathing, can practically hear him thinking, and finally just explode. "Jesus Christ, Jasper. What do you want me to do? Just ignore Bella so I can go practice for a few hours. I can't. You don't know, you don't understand … she's … I just can't."
I pinch the bridge of my nose so tightly I'm sure there are indentations from my fingernails embedded in the skin. "I know I need to practice, and I will, just not today. One or two days isn't going to kill me," I tell him, and struggle to ignore the taunting smart ass voice in the back of my mind telling me Yeah, right, jackass.
"I hope you know what you're doing, man. You've wanted this for too long to blow it now." I can hear him clear his throat and I brace myself for what's coming next. I know what he's going to say before the words even come out.
"I have to say this because I'm your best friend, even if it pisses you off. If you let this obsession, or whatever the hell you want to call it, with Bella get in the way of what you've dreamed about for almost as long as I've known you, I will kick your ass. I know she's important to you, but you hardly know her, Edward. In fact, you don't know her, and she doesn't know you. You've shared a few letters or whatever, but come the fuck on. You haven't even met face to face and you're slacking on getting ready for camp, which just in case you've forgotten, is only the biggest, most important thing of your life so far. It's just … I really hope she's worth it," he trails off, and I can feel his concern and his frustration.
"She needs me, Jasper. I can't explain it any simpler than that. I know I need to get ready and I will, I promise."
"Yeah, well, I sure the fuck hope so. Your parents will be home in a few days, don't forget that. You can't keep spending all night watching her, I don't care how hot you think she is or how much you think she needs you. You have a life, and you had plans before she showed up a few weeks ago … don't forget that either."
I squeeze my eyes closed and breathe in and out a few times before I answer quietly, "I won't."
"Good. I'll tell Em about practice. If you need me, I'm here, try to remember that, okay? Emmett, too."
He hangs up before I have a chance to say anything else, though for now I've said pretty much all I have to say.
I toss my phone on my bed and turn from the notebook calling to me to finish my letter. I'm not ready yet, not with everything Jasper just told me turning around and around in my mind. I spend a few hours doing everything but not thinking about … anything. I fix some breakfast. I do some laundry. Despite what Jasper insinuated, or maybe because of it, I go for a run, in the complete opposite direction from Bella's. I have my iPod and turn it up as loud as it can go, loud enough to drown out the frenzy going on in my head. I concentrate. I listen to the rhythmic pound of my feet against the ground, the steady thump of my heart against my chest. I feel sweat pour down the side of my face and pool at the small of my back. I welcome the burn in my muscles and the spike of adrenaline that spreads with each stride.
I run until I can't go any further. By the time I'm standing under water so hot it almost feels cold, my mind is calm … focused.
Again I sit in the middle of my bed. I pick up the notebook and begin to write, letting everything I've held inside for the past few weeks out in a torrent of words.
I'm back, but you probably couldn't tell that I ever left, huh?
Bella, I have to tell you that after sleeping for a bit and messing around my house and stuff, it's afternoon now in case you were wondering, knowing about your mom is just as bad now as it was when I read it the first time. I don't mean to make you upset, but damn, what a messed up thing to happen.
You know, and God I hope this doesn't make me sound like a jackass, but when I woke up this morning … well late this morning, the first thing I wanted to do, and did, was text my mom and tell her I love her. The next thing I did … was feel horrible because you can't do the same thing. And you should be able to. The fact you can't just really sucks.
I want to help you, be there for you … be your friend … be more to you if that's what you want.
I know we don't know each other, but like you said, maybe we know each other better than anyone else. I sure as hell spend more time thinking about you than anyone else. I really hope that doesn't freak you out, but at this point, I think it's probably pretty clear that there's something between us. I have no freaking idea what it is, all I know is I've never felt this way about anyone before … ever. And in case you were wondering, I don't make a habit of watching girls in the middle of the night.
Not until you anyway.
It's scary as fuck and confusing, and at times I feel like I've gone insane, but then I see you and nothing else matters. I have plans and things I'm supposed to be doing and getting ready for, and I won't say that they don't matter as much as you do, because they do, but I see things differently now. I don't know exactly how that's possible, seeing as how you've never even see me (You still haven't looked out your window at all? Not once? I can't decide if that makes me happy or makes things even weirder) or talked to me or heard my voice.
I saw you once, in the Thriftway, a few weeks back. I about shit my pants, to be honest. I wanted to talk to you so badly, but was afraid that I'd scare you. To make myself sound like an even bigger idiot, I was afraid of ruining whatever this is we have going on. I'm not going to lie to you anymore, not that I've lied at all just so you know, but I think we're past the point of hiding things, don't you think?
Bella, what do you want from me?
I don't want to push you, but you have to know you're driving me crazy, in a mostly good way, but absolutely crazy just the same. Can I tell you what I want? I want to be there for you because it seems like you're so alone. I want to be able to hold your hand when you get scared, and I want to give a shoulder to lean on or cry on when you're having a bad day. I want to see you smile from up close instead of from always so far away.
I want to be whatever you need me to be.
I know you're dealing with a lot, more than anyone should have to handle by themselves, and I can tell there's more you haven't told me. I'll be patient and not push, or I'll try to be, but you can tell me all of it. I'm not going to leave … seriously, where am I going to go? Forks isn't exactly a metropolis, and it's not like we won't run into each other at some point. You know that will happen sooner or later, right? Maybe not anytime in the near future, but when school starts it will for sure.
You will still be here, won't you? Fuck, I didn't even think of that. I mean, Phil just got traded to the Mariners; it won't happen again, will it?
And … um … don't hate me but what happens to you if your mom passes away? Will Phil make you move to Seattle? I don't want you to go.
Tell me what you need, Bella, and I'll do it. I want to, please believe me when I say that.
I'm not running away. I'm not leaving. You can trust me, I promise.
'Til tonight,
Edward
P.S. - You can keep calling me Creeper if you want, it's kind of grown on me, but just like I want to know you, I want YOU to know ME.
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Watching Her Chapter 28 - Tarzan
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Chapter 28 - Tarzan - Tarzan
Tarzan is an extremely brave, loyal, and honorable character. He cares deeply about his family and friends.
A thump on the floor and I'm stunned to realize I'm standing in front of my window. I look down in the direction the noise came from and see the notebook, splayed open, full of words that have seared themselves into my brain, taunting me.
Numb.
I can't even … I don't know how … How can I …
Dying.
Bella's mom is dying.
I run a hand through my hair and look at my reflection in the glass. I don't even know what to think when I look at myself in the context of what I know about Bella now. I do a quick inventory of my life and tick off, like hash marks, the number of times I've complained about my mom and each one feels like acid dropping onto my skin. Guilt spreads, icy tentacles that weave and burrow, slither and squeeze, until I can't breathe.
Jesus fucking Christ.
I feel sick.
I want to call my mom and tell her I love her, then immediately blanch because my mom's just a phone call away and Bella's is … fuck what the hell is she?
Words that I can't even think, let alone say, push and prod and I quickly turn from the window, unable to keep looking at my reflection for some reason. I begin to pace, leaving the wretched notebook on the floor where it lays, blaming it for the hurt Bella left indelibly sprawled across its pages. My whole body is buzzing, like it's filled with currents of electricity. I keep pacing, stomping from one side of my room to the other, then around in circles, then again with the back and forth.
I want to hit something.
I want to play my piano.
I want to call my mom and tell her I love her.
I want to give Bella her mom back.
Fuck.
I have to close my eyes and take a few deep breaths to keep from falling apart. In the worst case scenarios, I never imagined any of this for Bella. The things I knew about her before make more sense, while at the same time invites more questions. My heart races as my mind begins to formulate the things I want to know so fast that my stomach rolls and lurches.
Not wanting to look at it, but having no choice I stride across my room and pick the notebook up off the floor. I crawl into the center of my bed, and fold my legs, setting the notebook in my lap. Purposely flipping the page to a blank sheet, I try to calm down enough so that I can put my thoughts into words.
Bella needs me to be strong, she deserves no less. That's enough to make me take a deep breath and let my heart say what it wants.
Bella,
I gasp when I see her name written in my handwriting for the first time, and let the warmth it brings me spread through my veins. It's right to use her name now; she's not some girl I watch in the dark any longer. She's real. She's suffering. And she thinks she's alone.
She's not.
Not any longer.
What do I say? How do I begin? Do I tell you I'm sorry first, or do I thank you for trusting me enough to tell me something so painful, so personal? Do I promise you things will be okay?
I don't have the first damn clue, but I'm here.
I'm not going anywhere.
That's what I want to tell you first, what you need to believe more than anything else.
I can't even imagine what it must be like to go through what you are. Fuck, just saying that makes me feel like an asshole. I mean, it's hard to know what to say and what will make things worse or hurt you. I never want to hurt you … not ever.
And it's not because I feel sorry for you, but I do wish your mom was okay and that you weren't so sad all the time.
You asked me what I can see?
I see you.
I see when you're so sad and so scared that it takes every ounce of strength you have just to put one foot in front of the other and walk from your house to your building. I see you let go when you sit behind your drums and hold your drumsticks in your hands like they were just an extension of you, like they're as much a part of you as your fingers. I see when you smile … and it lights you up from the inside out.
I see you, Bella.
I only, always, see you.
Sounds crazy doesn't it? I sometimes feel like I'm going out of my fucking mind, but it's in the best possible way. It makes no sense but yet it makes the most sense ever.
And you're going through this horrible thing, and all I want to do is help you, but I don't know how. Tell me what I can do for you and I promise I'll do it … or I'll try as hard as I possibly can to help, in any way I'm able.
My dad's a doctor, maybe he can help your mom. Or maybe he can find someone who can. Shit, that makes me sound like an asshole, again. Of course your step-dad has tried everything to help your mom. This is probably not the right time to say this, but … um … Phil Dwyer's your step-dad? I'm not a huge fan of baseball, too busy with soccer, but damn, even I know who he is.
And, if Phil is your step-dad, where is your dad? Is he still back in Phoenix? I kinda don't think so. I don't know why, but I think something might have happened to him, too. Did it? I'm almost afraid to ask, but I want to help you, Bella. I want to know everything about you, even the stuff that's bad.
Tell me what to do to help you.
What do you need?
Does anyone help you? Are you alone all day? I know you said there's someone there with you named Maggie.Does she take care of you, too? God, please tell me she does. Do you ever see Phil, or is he traveling too much because of baseball? Is that why Maggie is there, because he's not? It would kill me to think of you sitting inside all day with no one to talk to … besides your mom.
I hate this for you, Bella. I really fucking do. How do you do it? I mean if it were me, I think I'd stay locked in my room all day. That's why you're so strong; you know you are, don't you? I know Phil's your step-dad and all, but how can he leave you and your mom? Doesn't he want to be there? I mean I guess I know he can't be and play ball at the same time, but I don't understand how he can be away and how he can leave you alone, even if you have someone there to help with your mom.
Isn't there any other family, anyone else to be with you so you aren't alone so much? And fuck, don't hate me for asking this, but is it safe for your mom to be at home and not in a hospital? How does that work? Do you need my dad to do anything for you? I'm sure he would if you need something.
God, I'm sorry for asking so many questions, but I'm only trying to help.
And um, yeah, about Kate. I need to tell you something. Please don't freak out, okay? I heard her talking about you at the hospital the other day.That's how I know your name. I didn't mean to eavesdrop. It wasn't on purpose but when she said the name Bella, I wasn't sure she was talking about you at first, well, actually, I WAS (and that's a whole other thing) but when the person she was talking to mentioned the Abbott house I knew it was you.
Do you know that house, well your house now, is my favorite house in all of Forks? I mean I love mine, but that one, there's just something about it. At Halloween, Mr. and Mrs. Abbott always gave out the best candy and sometimes let us come inside, just to the living room, for only a few minutes, and at Christmas, when we were younger, they would decorate their house … think the Griswolds in Christmas Vacation, and then have us sit in the kitchen for hot chocolate.
I've always wanted to see what the whole thing looks like.
I yawn, loudly, and my eyes water from the fatigue setting in. The pen I'm holding slips from my fingers and I don't try to pick it up. I simply stretch my legs, ignoring the thousands of needles pricking my skin all at one time, and settle against my pillow, clutching the notebook to my chest.
It's hard to breathe for a few minutes as everything that Bella has written washes over me. Every muscle in my body seems to tighten, and I squeeze my eyes closed so tightly there are spots of white behind my eyelids. In and out, I inhale and exhale and then eventually my body relaxes.
Sleep claims me quickly, and I'm too exhausted to fight.
My last thought, right before I succumb, is of Bella … always, always, Bella and the hope that someday soon, I might actually get to see the inside of the old Abbott house.
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Chapter 28 - Tarzan - Tarzan
Tarzan is an extremely brave, loyal, and honorable character. He cares deeply about his family and friends.
A thump on the floor and I'm stunned to realize I'm standing in front of my window. I look down in the direction the noise came from and see the notebook, splayed open, full of words that have seared themselves into my brain, taunting me.
Numb.
I can't even … I don't know how … How can I …
Dying.
Bella's mom is dying.
I run a hand through my hair and look at my reflection in the glass. I don't even know what to think when I look at myself in the context of what I know about Bella now. I do a quick inventory of my life and tick off, like hash marks, the number of times I've complained about my mom and each one feels like acid dropping onto my skin. Guilt spreads, icy tentacles that weave and burrow, slither and squeeze, until I can't breathe.
Jesus fucking Christ.
I feel sick.
I want to call my mom and tell her I love her, then immediately blanch because my mom's just a phone call away and Bella's is … fuck what the hell is she?
Words that I can't even think, let alone say, push and prod and I quickly turn from the window, unable to keep looking at my reflection for some reason. I begin to pace, leaving the wretched notebook on the floor where it lays, blaming it for the hurt Bella left indelibly sprawled across its pages. My whole body is buzzing, like it's filled with currents of electricity. I keep pacing, stomping from one side of my room to the other, then around in circles, then again with the back and forth.
I want to hit something.
I want to play my piano.
I want to call my mom and tell her I love her.
I want to give Bella her mom back.
Fuck.
I have to close my eyes and take a few deep breaths to keep from falling apart. In the worst case scenarios, I never imagined any of this for Bella. The things I knew about her before make more sense, while at the same time invites more questions. My heart races as my mind begins to formulate the things I want to know so fast that my stomach rolls and lurches.
Not wanting to look at it, but having no choice I stride across my room and pick the notebook up off the floor. I crawl into the center of my bed, and fold my legs, setting the notebook in my lap. Purposely flipping the page to a blank sheet, I try to calm down enough so that I can put my thoughts into words.
Bella needs me to be strong, she deserves no less. That's enough to make me take a deep breath and let my heart say what it wants.
Bella,
I gasp when I see her name written in my handwriting for the first time, and let the warmth it brings me spread through my veins. It's right to use her name now; she's not some girl I watch in the dark any longer. She's real. She's suffering. And she thinks she's alone.
She's not.
Not any longer.
What do I say? How do I begin? Do I tell you I'm sorry first, or do I thank you for trusting me enough to tell me something so painful, so personal? Do I promise you things will be okay?
I don't have the first damn clue, but I'm here.
I'm not going anywhere.
That's what I want to tell you first, what you need to believe more than anything else.
I can't even imagine what it must be like to go through what you are. Fuck, just saying that makes me feel like an asshole. I mean, it's hard to know what to say and what will make things worse or hurt you. I never want to hurt you … not ever.
And it's not because I feel sorry for you, but I do wish your mom was okay and that you weren't so sad all the time.
You asked me what I can see?
I see you.
I see when you're so sad and so scared that it takes every ounce of strength you have just to put one foot in front of the other and walk from your house to your building. I see you let go when you sit behind your drums and hold your drumsticks in your hands like they were just an extension of you, like they're as much a part of you as your fingers. I see when you smile … and it lights you up from the inside out.
I see you, Bella.
I only, always, see you.
Sounds crazy doesn't it? I sometimes feel like I'm going out of my fucking mind, but it's in the best possible way. It makes no sense but yet it makes the most sense ever.
And you're going through this horrible thing, and all I want to do is help you, but I don't know how. Tell me what I can do for you and I promise I'll do it … or I'll try as hard as I possibly can to help, in any way I'm able.
My dad's a doctor, maybe he can help your mom. Or maybe he can find someone who can. Shit, that makes me sound like an asshole, again. Of course your step-dad has tried everything to help your mom. This is probably not the right time to say this, but … um … Phil Dwyer's your step-dad? I'm not a huge fan of baseball, too busy with soccer, but damn, even I know who he is.
And, if Phil is your step-dad, where is your dad? Is he still back in Phoenix? I kinda don't think so. I don't know why, but I think something might have happened to him, too. Did it? I'm almost afraid to ask, but I want to help you, Bella. I want to know everything about you, even the stuff that's bad.
Tell me what to do to help you.
What do you need?
Does anyone help you? Are you alone all day? I know you said there's someone there with you named Maggie.Does she take care of you, too? God, please tell me she does. Do you ever see Phil, or is he traveling too much because of baseball? Is that why Maggie is there, because he's not? It would kill me to think of you sitting inside all day with no one to talk to … besides your mom.
I hate this for you, Bella. I really fucking do. How do you do it? I mean if it were me, I think I'd stay locked in my room all day. That's why you're so strong; you know you are, don't you? I know Phil's your step-dad and all, but how can he leave you and your mom? Doesn't he want to be there? I mean I guess I know he can't be and play ball at the same time, but I don't understand how he can be away and how he can leave you alone, even if you have someone there to help with your mom.
Isn't there any other family, anyone else to be with you so you aren't alone so much? And fuck, don't hate me for asking this, but is it safe for your mom to be at home and not in a hospital? How does that work? Do you need my dad to do anything for you? I'm sure he would if you need something.
God, I'm sorry for asking so many questions, but I'm only trying to help.
And um, yeah, about Kate. I need to tell you something. Please don't freak out, okay? I heard her talking about you at the hospital the other day.That's how I know your name. I didn't mean to eavesdrop. It wasn't on purpose but when she said the name Bella, I wasn't sure she was talking about you at first, well, actually, I WAS (and that's a whole other thing) but when the person she was talking to mentioned the Abbott house I knew it was you.
Do you know that house, well your house now, is my favorite house in all of Forks? I mean I love mine, but that one, there's just something about it. At Halloween, Mr. and Mrs. Abbott always gave out the best candy and sometimes let us come inside, just to the living room, for only a few minutes, and at Christmas, when we were younger, they would decorate their house … think the Griswolds in Christmas Vacation, and then have us sit in the kitchen for hot chocolate.
I've always wanted to see what the whole thing looks like.
I yawn, loudly, and my eyes water from the fatigue setting in. The pen I'm holding slips from my fingers and I don't try to pick it up. I simply stretch my legs, ignoring the thousands of needles pricking my skin all at one time, and settle against my pillow, clutching the notebook to my chest.
It's hard to breathe for a few minutes as everything that Bella has written washes over me. Every muscle in my body seems to tighten, and I squeeze my eyes closed so tightly there are spots of white behind my eyelids. In and out, I inhale and exhale and then eventually my body relaxes.
Sleep claims me quickly, and I'm too exhausted to fight.
My last thought, right before I succumb, is of Bella … always, always, Bella and the hope that someday soon, I might actually get to see the inside of the old Abbott house.
~~~~OOO~~~~OOO~~~~
Watching Her Chapter 27 - Violet Parr
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Chapter 27 - Violet Parr - The Incredibles
Violet is very solitary and shy. Once you get her to open up, you will find that she is outspoken and stubborn with a dash of sarcastic thrown in.
BPOV - This coincides with Edward's Chapter 25
I can feel him out there watching me.
Not that there's much to watch since all I'm doing is laying here, huddled under a blanket that smells like wet leaves, pine trees. If I try, or more likely if I imagine hard enough, I can smell the smoke from the fires my dad used to make when we'd go camping when I was little. I pull the blanket tighter around me and ignore the sting in the corner of my eyes when I realize there's no smoke smell at all.
How could there be? Charlie's been dead a little over seven years now, so it's just another case of wanting what I can't have.
I wonder how long he'll stay tonight.
I should play for him. I like playing for him, but I just can't tonight. There are no notes in my head, no rhythms begging to be played. All I can think about is the notebook in his hands right now and what he's going to think when he reads what I've written.
Did I make a mistake in trusting him? I wonder for the five hundred thirty-ninth time … at least. I hope I didn't. I honestly don't think I did.
I reach into the pocket of my hoodie and wrap my fingers around the sweet, silly pen he left me. I run my finger through the plume of fluff on the end, and smile slightly when it tickles. How something so ordinary can make me feel like laughing and crying at the same time, I have no idea.
The music in the background makes me smile, but it's bittersweet. The achingly familiar beat of Led Zeppelin's Stairway to Heaven causes the tears I've been trying to hold in to fall, sliding down my cheeks and then down the side of my nose. The hot tracks cool from the damp night air and I pull the blanket tighter around me.
Can he hear the music? Can he see me cry?
I'm not sure, but I think the answer might be yes to the first and no to the second.
I close my eyes and let the music wash over me and try to just let go and breathe. I run my fingers through the fluff on the end of the pen and concentrate on trying to relax. My mind wanders and I can't help but smile at how upset and sincere Creeper sounded in his letter apologizing about not showing up for one night.
Not going to lie, it hurt … and it scared me how badly it did hurt. Then I got pissed at myself for being upset; then I got worried that he'd never come back and I'd never know who he was.
Of course his reason for missing is totally understandable, and he definitely did not owe me any sort of explanation and for damn sure not an apology. Apologize for what? Not spying on me? As if that even makes any sense at freaking all. The apology was sweet though, in a weird, messed-up kind of way and the pen … well, I think I love it more than the drumsticks. Not sure what that says exactly. Maybe not anything, maybe it means everything. My brain's full of too many things right now to think about it too much.
He makes me feel, and I think that's what scares me the most.
When Mom had her … accident, I just shut down for a while. My friends in Phoenix, not that I had a whole hell of a lot of them to be honest, didn't know what to say to me, which was good because I didn't want to talk about anything. Phil asked Maggie and she came to live with us because he was on the road so much. I refused to go to school, needing to be with Mom as much as possible. Phil didn't argue too much. I think it's probably because he wasn't sure exactly what to do. I'm not sure he does even now.
He tries though, he really does. I know that Phil's doing the best he can, but he's floundering just like I am. I know he cares, but his wife is laying in a hospital bed, here but not really here in this agonizing state of limbo, and now he's responsible for a child that isn't even his. What can he do?
After Dad died, it was just me and Mom for a few years, and then she met Phil. She was lucky enough to find two men that she truly loved. Mom and Phil have been married for five years … but she hasn't been here for over a year. What can be expected from Phil? I love him, I do, but he's not my dad, and he doesn't try to be. Without Mom here, there's this hole, this glaring empty space that's supposed to be filled by her, by her laugh and her smile and her goofy dresses and the weird food she insists tastes better than it looks. Phil's a great guy. I'm not angry at him, but he has no idea what to do for me. That's not his fault; it's not mine either … it's just another thing in this whole screwed-up mess that just simply is. He does what he can, like my building. I thought it was really nice of him to build me an escape. I think he was trying to make sure I didn't sink any further by being in a small town and not knowing anyone. I can't blame him.
I'm lost, too.
Now, here we are in Forks so that Phil can give me what I want and keep Mom at home. Mags came with us from Phoenix, Phil's always traveling, and I'm all alone. Well, other than Creeper, and I'm starting to really depend on him being here.
Funny how that's happened. At first, I couldn't imagine how anyone could do what he does, just watch someone, and now … I can't imagine him not being out there.
I'd planned on just keeping to myself, getting through this last year of school, and taking care of Mom. Phil told me to take as long as I needed. I'm not ready to give up on her yet, and I don't know when I will be, if ever. How can I? I know if the situation were reversed nothing could make my mom give up on me. Nothing. I've done the research. I know people can wake up from this. All of the doctors, Maggie, Phil, tell me not to get my hopes up, but I have to believe there's a chance. Because if I don't, the alternative means that she's gone. I'm just not ready to be an orphan yet.
I thought I could get through this by myself, but once Creeper started watching and writing to me, not to mention leaving me presents, I realized how much I missed having contact with someone I could just vent to … someone to talk to me and just … be there.
Now there is someone … a nameless, faceless someone, who wants nothing more than to be my friend. At least that's what he says. I believe him. I'm not sure why I do, but I trust him when he says he wants to be here for me. It's not just because I want to believe him so badly, that I need to believe there's someone out there I can trust with things that make me feel like screaming at the top of my lungs or that I'm scared of. It's because he keeps coming back, night after night, when he doesn't have to. It's because I feel a sense of peace that I didn't know I was missing until he showed up, when he's out there; it's from knowing I matter to someone enough to do something as silly and sweet as giving me a ridiculous pen just to see me smile.
I really hope he comes back. I guess I need to admit to myself that he's my friend … or he will be if he comes back and doesn't run in the other direction. Please don't let him do that. I can't handle being left again. He's come back night after night, and hasn't given up on me yet, but I need to acknowledge this is different. This is me giving him something that he can use against me. What I wrote to him could be just too much for someone to have to deal with, and while I don't want him to run, I can't help but think I wouldn't blame him if he did.
I look out into the darkness, and wipe the tears from my face again.
Please come back, Creeper.
~~~~OOO~~~~OOO~~~~
Chapter 27 - Violet Parr - The Incredibles
Violet is very solitary and shy. Once you get her to open up, you will find that she is outspoken and stubborn with a dash of sarcastic thrown in.
BPOV - This coincides with Edward's Chapter 25
I can feel him out there watching me.
Not that there's much to watch since all I'm doing is laying here, huddled under a blanket that smells like wet leaves, pine trees. If I try, or more likely if I imagine hard enough, I can smell the smoke from the fires my dad used to make when we'd go camping when I was little. I pull the blanket tighter around me and ignore the sting in the corner of my eyes when I realize there's no smoke smell at all.
How could there be? Charlie's been dead a little over seven years now, so it's just another case of wanting what I can't have.
I wonder how long he'll stay tonight.
I should play for him. I like playing for him, but I just can't tonight. There are no notes in my head, no rhythms begging to be played. All I can think about is the notebook in his hands right now and what he's going to think when he reads what I've written.
Did I make a mistake in trusting him? I wonder for the five hundred thirty-ninth time … at least. I hope I didn't. I honestly don't think I did.
I reach into the pocket of my hoodie and wrap my fingers around the sweet, silly pen he left me. I run my finger through the plume of fluff on the end, and smile slightly when it tickles. How something so ordinary can make me feel like laughing and crying at the same time, I have no idea.
The music in the background makes me smile, but it's bittersweet. The achingly familiar beat of Led Zeppelin's Stairway to Heaven causes the tears I've been trying to hold in to fall, sliding down my cheeks and then down the side of my nose. The hot tracks cool from the damp night air and I pull the blanket tighter around me.
Can he hear the music? Can he see me cry?
I'm not sure, but I think the answer might be yes to the first and no to the second.
I close my eyes and let the music wash over me and try to just let go and breathe. I run my fingers through the fluff on the end of the pen and concentrate on trying to relax. My mind wanders and I can't help but smile at how upset and sincere Creeper sounded in his letter apologizing about not showing up for one night.
Not going to lie, it hurt … and it scared me how badly it did hurt. Then I got pissed at myself for being upset; then I got worried that he'd never come back and I'd never know who he was.
Of course his reason for missing is totally understandable, and he definitely did not owe me any sort of explanation and for damn sure not an apology. Apologize for what? Not spying on me? As if that even makes any sense at freaking all. The apology was sweet though, in a weird, messed-up kind of way and the pen … well, I think I love it more than the drumsticks. Not sure what that says exactly. Maybe not anything, maybe it means everything. My brain's full of too many things right now to think about it too much.
He makes me feel, and I think that's what scares me the most.
When Mom had her … accident, I just shut down for a while. My friends in Phoenix, not that I had a whole hell of a lot of them to be honest, didn't know what to say to me, which was good because I didn't want to talk about anything. Phil asked Maggie and she came to live with us because he was on the road so much. I refused to go to school, needing to be with Mom as much as possible. Phil didn't argue too much. I think it's probably because he wasn't sure exactly what to do. I'm not sure he does even now.
He tries though, he really does. I know that Phil's doing the best he can, but he's floundering just like I am. I know he cares, but his wife is laying in a hospital bed, here but not really here in this agonizing state of limbo, and now he's responsible for a child that isn't even his. What can he do?
After Dad died, it was just me and Mom for a few years, and then she met Phil. She was lucky enough to find two men that she truly loved. Mom and Phil have been married for five years … but she hasn't been here for over a year. What can be expected from Phil? I love him, I do, but he's not my dad, and he doesn't try to be. Without Mom here, there's this hole, this glaring empty space that's supposed to be filled by her, by her laugh and her smile and her goofy dresses and the weird food she insists tastes better than it looks. Phil's a great guy. I'm not angry at him, but he has no idea what to do for me. That's not his fault; it's not mine either … it's just another thing in this whole screwed-up mess that just simply is. He does what he can, like my building. I thought it was really nice of him to build me an escape. I think he was trying to make sure I didn't sink any further by being in a small town and not knowing anyone. I can't blame him.
I'm lost, too.
Now, here we are in Forks so that Phil can give me what I want and keep Mom at home. Mags came with us from Phoenix, Phil's always traveling, and I'm all alone. Well, other than Creeper, and I'm starting to really depend on him being here.
Funny how that's happened. At first, I couldn't imagine how anyone could do what he does, just watch someone, and now … I can't imagine him not being out there.
I'd planned on just keeping to myself, getting through this last year of school, and taking care of Mom. Phil told me to take as long as I needed. I'm not ready to give up on her yet, and I don't know when I will be, if ever. How can I? I know if the situation were reversed nothing could make my mom give up on me. Nothing. I've done the research. I know people can wake up from this. All of the doctors, Maggie, Phil, tell me not to get my hopes up, but I have to believe there's a chance. Because if I don't, the alternative means that she's gone. I'm just not ready to be an orphan yet.
I thought I could get through this by myself, but once Creeper started watching and writing to me, not to mention leaving me presents, I realized how much I missed having contact with someone I could just vent to … someone to talk to me and just … be there.
Now there is someone … a nameless, faceless someone, who wants nothing more than to be my friend. At least that's what he says. I believe him. I'm not sure why I do, but I trust him when he says he wants to be here for me. It's not just because I want to believe him so badly, that I need to believe there's someone out there I can trust with things that make me feel like screaming at the top of my lungs or that I'm scared of. It's because he keeps coming back, night after night, when he doesn't have to. It's because I feel a sense of peace that I didn't know I was missing until he showed up, when he's out there; it's from knowing I matter to someone enough to do something as silly and sweet as giving me a ridiculous pen just to see me smile.
I really hope he comes back. I guess I need to admit to myself that he's my friend … or he will be if he comes back and doesn't run in the other direction. Please don't let him do that. I can't handle being left again. He's come back night after night, and hasn't given up on me yet, but I need to acknowledge this is different. This is me giving him something that he can use against me. What I wrote to him could be just too much for someone to have to deal with, and while I don't want him to run, I can't help but think I wouldn't blame him if he did.
I look out into the darkness, and wipe the tears from my face again.
Please come back, Creeper.
~~~~OOO~~~~OOO~~~~
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