Watching Her Chapter 23 - Tiger Lily

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Chapter 23 – Tiger Lily – Peter Pan
Tiger Lily is rather stoic. She comes off as aloof, but in reality she is just very proud and brave.

A good five minutes pass before Bella comes outside. I know, because my eyes keep dropping down to my watch every few seconds while I've been waiting. I have no idea what to expect. Anger, sadness, supremely pissed-off? It could be any one or all of them, I guess. The door opens and out she steps. I stop breathing. It takes every ounce of energy I have churning inside of me to keep my feet planted on the ground when all I want to do is run to her and scoop her up and give her a hug.

Instead, I stay where I am, too far away to do anything but watch.

Always watching.

A quick scan of her body from head to foot and I don't see any bandages or bruises. Thank God. The thought of her being injured makes me sick, a reaction I don't think should be quite as gut-wrenching as it is, but I can't help it either. We might not have ever said a word to each other, but that doesn't mean that I wouldn't do just about anything for her ... scaring the bejesus out of her notwithstanding. There's a slight hesitation that I've never seen before as she closes the door behind her and it makes my entire body still.

I suck in a sharp breath, praying, "Please don't go back inside." I whisper the words, urging her to listen even though I know she can't hear me.

As usual she's wearing a t-shirt decorated with a Disney character but tonight it takes me more than a few minutes to figure out who it is. When I do, a surge of emotion wells up deep inside of me, filling every space with a mixture of disbelief and dread, mingled with just enough hope to make me warm all over.

Tiger Lily.

I wrack my brain and try to think about what I know of her character. Of course Peter Pan is Alice's favorite movie, so to say I've seen it lots of times is a fucking understatement. She must've made us all watch that movie no less than a hundred times while we were growing up, and it didn't stop when we reached high school either.

Brave, loyal, and most of all, self-sacrificing.

The first one is my girl for sure, the second two, well, I don't know for a fact are her, but it damn sure fits everything I know about her. More than any other night before, I want to walk right up to her and really talk to her. I want to be able to look into her eyes, and hold her hand, and see, up close, every single solitary thing about her that makes her … Bella.

Does she have freckles across her nose? Does she paint her fingernails or bite them? Does her hair smell like peppermint or sugar cookies … or is it a combination of both? Are her eyes dark brown like coffee or lighter like cinnamon?

So many things I still don't know; so many things that I want to know. I want to feel her and see her smile while our noses are so close they almost touch. I want to listen to her talk and laugh and maybe even sing, adorably off-key I bet, and tell me every secret she has and the story behind every scar on her body.

I'm so ready for more, more of her, more of whatever crazy, scary, amazing thing this is between us. She's not ready, she's not even close, and I know it. How could she be? Hell, half the time I'm scared out of my mind wondering what's going to happen between us, and the other half I can't do anything but picture her naked and wrapped around me in ways I've only seen in movies.

She gingerly walks down the steps as if she's testing her weight on whatever it is she's injured, but when she reaches the bottom she moves quickly inside her building and straight toward the stool where my notebook and the ridiculous pen await her.

My legs feel like they'll give way any second now and I know my fingers have done a real number on the notebook in my hand. I can hear the edges of the paper crinkle as I rub it against my thigh. A bank of dark clouds drift high above me, obscuring the crescent moon that lies almost on its side. For just a moment, while the wind blows the clouds silently across the sky, I'm shrouded completely in darkness. It's so dark that I can barely see my hand in front of my face. The only thing I can see is Bella. My eyes are riveted to her and I can feel my stomach twist and turn and rise and fall with every step she takes.

When it literally feels like I could jump out of my skin from nervousness, her laugh fills the air. And when I say laugh, I mean really laugh … like one that starts at the tips of her toes and shoots all the way up her body. She throws her head back, her shoulders shake, and it's honestly the best damn sound I've ever heard in my life.
Her smile is brighter than the moon that's just escaped from the cloud cover and a million times sweeter than the best candy. If Jasper were here, I'd have to hug him, and thank him, and tell him he was right … all of which makes me fucking happy he's not here.

Instead of laying the notebook, which is now in her hand along with the pen, on the arm of the loveseat like she normally does, she sits down and curls up in the corner. She opens it and my heart stops while she reads my words. What the hell is she thinking? I wonder. I would give just about anything to know. It doesn't take long for her to read, a few minutes at most, but I swear they are the longest minutes - it feels like hours.

When she's finally done, she lays the notebook down beside her but doesn't close it. She looks at it though, for just a moment before she lifts her head, turns, and stares out into the night … and straight at me. I can feel it. I feel the hope and the want and the need and the sadness and the fear and the comfort … and about a hundred other things mixed together that my words have given her. Will I keep coming back? Will I understand? Will I hurt her?

She wants to trust me, I know she does, but she's so afraid. Afraid of me. Afraid of whatever's inside her house. Afraid of trusting in things she can't see and in presents and notebooks that appear out of nowhere, no matter that they're given with nothing but the best of intentions.

"Please, Bella," I say softly, though I have no idea what I'm asking of her.

Trust me.

Believe in me.

Talk to me.

She doesn't move for the longest time, her eyes never waver as she searches for something I can't help her find. Eventually though, she finds what she's looking for because she grabs the notebook, my pen, and begins to write.

And write.

For hours.
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