Chapter 25 - Cave of Wonders - Aladdin
If you're willing to enter the cave and take a piece of the treasure, it may keep you forever.
"Dude." Emmett shakes his head at me and all I can do is shrug my shoulders. Practice has been a complete waste of time. I know it and he sure as hell does when he tucks the soccer ball under his arm instead of punting it back to me so I can try my free kick again.
Jasper shoots me a look and arches his eyebrow at me saying without speaking, "You're going to have to tell him sooner or later."
I know, and I will … but not today.
I don't like feeling like I'm keeping things from Emmett, but I just can't deal with him right now. Whereas Jasper's cool and pretty levelheaded about things … unless you piss him off or hurt Alice in some way, Emmett's the complete opposite. He's loud and enthusiastic and … well, loud. If I told him about Bella right now, I'd still be here tomorrow morning answering his never-ending questions. He always, always, means well, and I love him for wanting nothing but for me and for those he cares about to be happy, but I don't have the energy it takes to talk to him and then deal with whatever awaits me when I get to Bella's later.
Emmett looks at me then to Jasper and then back to me again. "Okay, one of you is going to tell me what the hell is going on. I don't care who it is, but one of you better start spilling."
Jasper glances at me and does this sort of half shake half nod thing that makes him look like a bobblehead doll with a head that bounces all over the damn place. And of course, he's leaving things completely in my court … which I admit is only right, but it doesn't make it any better or easier.
Sighing, I run a hand through my hair and square my shoulders before I look at Emmett. I cringe a little bit when he glares at me, which, honestly, I deserve. Fuck. "Emmett, look, there's some shit going on that I need to talk to you about, but I can't do it right now."
"Does Jasper know what it is?" he interrupts, and I don't miss the hard edge to his voice. He's pissed and hurt, and I feel like an asshole.
"Yes." I can't lie, that will just make things worse.
Emmett glares at both me and Jasper before turning around and stomping toward his bag. He slings it over his shoulder and flips us off, with both hands, when we call his name. I don't blame him for being angry, but I don't like it either.
"Son of a bitch," I mutter and curl my fingers into tight fists when Em peels out of the parking lot so fast that he leaves a trail of smoke in his wake.
"He'll be fine when he's a chance to cool off. You know how he gets. Dude's as emotional as a pre-teen girl on her period." We both laugh because it's true enough, even though I hate that I'm the one he's pissed off at … it's usually Jasper.
We look at each other and laugh again when we come to the same realization - we don't have a ride home. Thankfully Ben takes pity on us and comes and picks up our sorry asses and takes each of us home, dropping me off first, for which I'm extremely grateful.
I tap out a text to Emmett, apologizing again as I walk up the front steps and then put him out of my mind for the time being. He'll be fine, like Jasper said, when he's had time to cool off for a bit. We've all been friends long enough that this is barely a hiccup. It's not like we haven't argued before, and we'll definitely do it again, besides, I have other things to worry about right now.
The rest of the afternoon drags on, but I shower and nap and make some spaghetti for dinner, all the while watching the clock and wondering what tonight will bring.
It seems as if there's a huge something waiting at the end of an unseen path I'm on. I have no idea what it is or what I'm going toward, only that Bella's there at the end.
The walk to her house seems different tonight. I don't hurry, but I don't lollygag either. I think about my letter to her, though it's really just a repeat of the one from the night before. I apologize again for not showing up, even though I don't think it's as big of a deal as I made it out to be in my head. I do have a tendency to over-think at times. Plus, if it spurred Bella to open up to me, then I really can't feel too bad about it, though I still don't like the thought of scaring or upsetting her.
I walk straight into her building without even pausing to let myself enjoy the way it always feels when I step inside. Normally I snatch up the waiting notebook, but tonight I hesitate. I know whatever she's written on the pages is going to change things between us. Watching her last night leaves no room to doubt that. I take a deep breath and pick hers up and set mine down. Hers is heavy in my hand, as if weighed down by the words it holds … even the air around me feels heavier tonight, like the entire space where she's always felt so free and so happy is somehow hinging on what she's written and how I'll react.
A scary fucking thought if there ever was one.
But, I've come too far, we've come too far for me to turn back now.
I hurry back out to my spot by my tree and wait.
I don't have to wait for long, but for the first time since I started watching her, she's in sweats and a hoodie, both black. The irony's not lost on me as I look down at my own matching clothes. I'm trying to hide; she can't hide even if she thinks she wants to.
I watch as she goes straight to the old stereo on the workbench and turns on some music. Classic rock, which somehow I know instinctively is more to remember someone than because it's what she likes to listen to. My heart hurts for her as she picks up the notebook then immediately curls into a tiny ball in the corner of the loveseat, pulling a blanket over herself so that all I can see is her face.
If I were closer, I bet I'd be able to see tears as well.
She doesn't move and neither do I until the pull to know what she's written becomes too much for me to resist. I give her one final glance and then, another first, I leave before she goes inside.
As I walk off, I wonder if she can tell.
Somehow I make it home in next to no time. In the next instant, I'm changed into basketball shorts and a wifebeater and sitting on my bed, the notebook open on my lap.
I don't even bother to turn on music; my only focus is on the words she's written.
Hey
Sorry, I just can't use the number. Is it weird that I don't even mind not knowing your name? I mean I do, but this way, it almost makes it easier to talk to you … and I really need someone to talk to.
I can't believe you gave me a pen. You're not breaking up with me are you? You remember that part in Say Anything don't you, where the girl was being all stupid because of her dad and broke up with Lloyd, who was perfect for her by the way, because she thought it was the right thing to do?
I'm rambling; I'm sorry. It's really odd, and somewhat comforting to know that you're out there watching me right now. What do you see? How much can you see? You don't use binoculars or anything like that do you, because I gotta tell you, Creeper, if you do, then well, that really IS creepy. I can always tell when you come inside, not just because you leave me strange though sweet presents, but it's more of a feeling. Like the way I know that you won't hurt me. Do you feel anything like that when you come in here? I think you might.
I have a tendency to get wordy when I talk … or write in this case I suppose, so I hope you're okay with that because I'm just going to go on like I was talking to you. I do want that one day, I think so anyway. I mean, I know that what we have going on here isn't normal, but I like to look at it like we're pen pals, just writing to each other while we get to know one another - if I forget about that whole you watching me side of things. I don't watch for you. I don't look out the windows or hide behind the curtains or anything in case you were wondering, and you'd be really strange, even more strange than you are, if you didn't. It's not like I don't want to, because most of the time I really do, but for some reason I can't make myself yet.
I feel like I'm going crazy sometimes. Can you tell that from where you watch me? I don't think it's normal for me to like the fact that you lurk in the dark as much as I do, but I can't make myself stop coming out here. I don't want to … knowing you're out there makes me feel less alone and I'm so, so fucking alone.
Besides the two people that help out here, you're the only person I've talked to in a while, and well, we don't even exactly talk, do we? Does that make me sound pathetic? Do you feel special or does that freak you out? I probably shouldn't say so much, but I have so much … shit just swirling inside of me and it's just been waiting for the chance to come out.
Please don't leave … and Jesus, that does make me sound pathetic, but at this point what do I have to lose? Everyone leaves me and I just need someone.
You asked a while back why I come outside, why I look so sad sometimes. Are you sure you want to know, because once I tell you, I can't un-tell you, you know? So at this point you need to ask yourself if you want to go on, because there's no turning back from here. I guess I'll know your answer tomorrow night and whether or not you come back, won't I?
There's a strange sound, seemingly from far away. Some part of my brain wonders what it is until I realize it's me. I try to catch my breath because apparently I've stopped breathing just long enough so that my vision's spotted and my head swims. I stare down at the notebook in my lap, though I can't see the words. I place my hand on the notebook; fingers spread wide so that the entire sheet of paper is almost covered completely, and take a few deep breaths.
Oh shit … inhale.
Oh fuck … exhale.
I want to know, I do, but my question to Jasper from this morning slinks forward, worming its way through to the forefront. Can I handle it … whatever it is? It's bad. There's no way around it now.
I look down, even though I keep my hand in place to keep from seeing what's underneath. Fuck, she's so brave. And beautiful. And strong. And scared … and alone. That one rips my heart right out of my chest and smashes it to smithereens, grinding it until it's nothing but pulp and dust.
How?
Why?
The answer lies beneath my shaking hand. All I have to do is look.
~~~~OOO~~~~OOO~~~~
0 comments:
Post a Comment