Watching Her Chapter 41 - Quasimodo

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Chapter 41 - Quasimodo - The Hunchback of Notre Dame
Quasimodo is kind-hearted and gentle. He is fiercely loyal and protective of Esmeralda.

Hey, Edward, 

How was your scrimmage? Did you win? I'm sure you keep score, right, even if it's a practice game. Did the new formation cause you any trouble? What did your coach say to you when the game was over? Did you score, did Jasper? Please tell me Emmett didn't let that one guy you told me about get one past him! 

I thought about you all day, and imagined what it will be like to watch you play. I can't wait to see it. 
Maybe we could play together sometime. You would take it easy on me, wouldn't you? I used to play, before Mom's … you know. I think I might like to play again one day. 

Phil's leaving tomorrow. It's been nice having him here, but I know being here with Mom the way she is, it's hard for him. He doesn't really go in her room very often, I think it hurts him too much. We worked on the car a little bit, it should be ready to go soon. While you're away at camp maybe I'll work on it some, I don't know. I don't think I'll play much when you're gone. Somehow I don't think it'll feel the same. 

I keep looking up, hoping I'll feel you out there, but you're not. It kind of scares me how much that affects me. 

Well, since you're not here, I think I might go inside. 

It's cold and I'm tired. 

I hope you come tomorrow. 

I miss you. 

I need you.

Yours,

Bella 

I sigh and it's not the good kind either. The kind that makes me feel warm and tingly and makes my knees bounce up and down. Nope, this one is more like trying to take a deep breath because my lungs can't find enough air. My stomach churns and my fingernails dig into my palms.

Fuck.

I feel just as bad, worse even, than I did when I crept into my bed just a few hours ago … after not seeing Bella … and read her words the first time. It took about all I had not to go right back to her house, to her and make her tell me what's wrong. In fact I was halfway down the steps before I heard the toilet flush in my parents' bedroom, so I hurried back to my room and climbed into bed.

Something's wrong.

Something's very, very wrong.

Bella rambles. It's cute and adorable and quirky and it makes me smile.

This, doesn't make me smile.

At all.

I hold the notebook tightly against my chest as if keeping her words close to me will somehow ease her pain. And my girl is hurting, there's no question about it. I can feel it, as much as if there was a knife slicing open my skin and salt was poured on the gaping wounds.

Did something happen to her mom? Is she sad because Phil's leaving? Is Phil taking her away? Is she mad at me? Is all of this too much for her?

I groan and roll over, still holding the notebook to my chest and stare out the window. I waited for her last night, for hours I stood and stared at her door, just willing her to come out, but she never did. It was bound to happen sooner or later, me going to her and her not coming outside, I just wasn't prepared for how much it would hurt, like a blow to the solar plexus, knock the wind right out of me hurt. With Phil here, having to go to Seattle for my scrimmage, the 4th, and my dad's schedule, there hasn't been much communication as of late.

It's almost insane how much I crave her words now. I always want her, of course, but I need her to talk to me every bit as much. I feel every word she writes, because I know she's talking to me; her heart's talking to me. Which is why this last letter is about enough to make me want to pull my hair out.

I know her. Know the way she writes, know her voice through her words, and I know if she would have been able to come outside last night, there wouldn't have been any playing. Dancing maybe, reminiscent of that one night that seems like almost a lifetime ago, when she was hurting so badly. She's danced some since then, but never like that. I'm not sure I ever want to see it again, either, knowing the pain she's using to punish her body, but I also know if she doesn't let it out somehow, it will consume her.

And there's no way in hell I'll ever let that happen.

I need her too much.

Yours,

Bella

I try to concentrate on those words, and allow the soothing comfort of knowing how true that is to seep into my skin and spread from my toes to the tips of my fingers and all the way to the top of my head. She is mine. I am hers. Whatever it is that's caused her to hurt we'll face it together because she's not alone in this, not any more.

Finally, I force myself out of bed, achy and sore from both the scrimmage, the long car ride, and late night getting home. It's Sunday so that means it's chore day. Normally I'd complain or at least mention a few times that Sundays were supposed to be a day of rest, to which my mom would simply give me that Mom look, and I'd go do all the things I'm going to do anyway, but today, I attack with more gusto than is probably wise.

I need to keep my mind busy …

I mow. I clean the pool. I do some laundry, clean my bathroom – which I have to say is probably much cleaner than most – change the sheets on my bed, and I even wash my car. I spend the entire day with my ear buds in and try not to worry about Bella, or what Coach told me last night, or anything else and just be.

By the time I'm done and have napped, showered, and changed clothes, Dad's home and it's time for dinner. I hear Mom in the kitchen as I walk down the stairs.

"Oh that poor girl, Carlisle!" she sniffs and I freeze, knowing immediately who she's talking about.

Dad sighs, the doctor one that's full of medical knowledge and compassion. He normally puts most people at ease when he does it, but for me, right now, not so much.

Not even a little bit.

"I know, sweetheart. I got the file of course while we were gone and skimmed it then but spent some time studying it this past week. It's just a horrible situation for all of them," he says, sounding tired and sad.

"No kidding," I mumble.

I hear cabinet doors close and plates clank. "Is there any hope of recovery?" Mom asks and I suck in a sharp breath and hold it.

I know the answer.

I hate the answer.

I don't want to hear the answer.

But he says it anyway.

"I'm a doctor, Es, so I always believe there is hope, but realistically, objectively, there is very, very little. Mrs. Dwyer has been in the state she's in for over a year now and in that time there's been no change. Not even a tiny blip of improvement."

Hearing those words obliterates the last shred of hope I had for Bella and for Renée and I'm barely able to keep myself from collapsing onto the floor. I already knew it, deep down anyway, but hearing the words from my dad makes them so much more real.

Fuck.

"I can't even imagine what that family must be going through. It's just tragic and then to have to make the decision about when and how to say goodbye and let that poor woman rest in peace … it's just awful." Mom sniffs, and I can tell from the tone of her voice she's already trying to figure out ways to help.

"I've spoken with the husband and both nurses, the nurses more frequently though. I think he's already accepted that his wife's gone; it's the daughter that's having difficulty right now."

"That poor girl," Mom says and I can just see her shaking her head at the unfairness of it all.

I hear the ping of silverware, then the oven door open and close. The tinkle of ice in glasses and the faucet turn on. My parents move from the topic of Bella and her mom to plans for the upcoming week. Normal, everyday activities that make up the soundtrack of my life, and things Bella won't ever share with her mom again. No chopping vegetables for a salad, or frosting a cake for a birthday, or standing at the kitchen sink washing and drying dishes together while a radio plays in the background. All things I know she's done before with her mom because she's told me, but after listening to my dad, things that seem impossible now.

I can't stand here any longer, because really all I want to do is walk out the front door and march straight over to Bella's. The only thing stopping me, besides the whole we haven't even met yet and this is not how I want it to happen aspect, is that Mom's made her famous Italian sausage lasagna for dinner and I smelled brownies earlier, too.

Hey, I'm a growing boy, I always want food.

I try to put a smile on my face when I walk in the kitchen, though thoughts of Bella and what my dad said swirling in my mind make it a little difficult. When Mom smiles at me as I walk in, I'm happy that my smile feels natural and easy.

I wish so much Bella could have the same thing.

"I knew you'd be down as soon as you smelled food," she says, grinning as I take my seat next to my dad.
"The yard looks good, son, and I see you cleaned the pool, too. Do you need extra money or are you trying to soften me up so you can ask me something?" Dad teases as he takes a drink of his iced tea.
I shrug and start to slouch down in my chair until Mom raises one eyebrow and I sit back up again. "Nah, just in the mood to stay busy I guess." I hedge, hoping that neither one of them can hear the sadness that's eking out.

Mom hands out the plates and we all dig in, the only sounds are ohhhs and ahhhs, a few groans, mostly from me, and the clatter of forks against ceramic. Once dinner is half done and conversation starts once more, I know Mom will bring up Bella.

She doesn't disappoint. "So, Edward, have you seen a new girl around town yet this summer? She's your age and will be starting school with you in the fall."

I almost choke on my lasagna. Even though I know it's coming, hearing my mom talk about my girl, even though she doesn't know she's my girl yet, is just plain weird.

"Um, no. The guys and I have been pretty busy with practice and then we just hung out here most of the time while you were gone, so there hasn't been much time for anything else," I sputter, my throat still burning from hacking up a lung.

"Well, I'm sure you and your friends will be just what she needs. She's ah …"

It's so out of character for my mom to stammer, which only makes my pulse race and my knee bounce beneath the table.

She sets her napkin down beside her plate and she looks at my dad and then at me. When she does, I see everything Bella must see when someone talks to her and I understand her even more than I did before. Pity, sadness, empathy all shine out of my mom's eyes and my nails dig into my thighs.

"The poor girl is all alone, well mostly anyway, and she's dealing with so much. She'll need friends, Edward, so you be sure to look after her," she says with a sad smile and pats the back of my hand before standing up to begin clearing the dishes. Dad follows right behind, leaving me alone.

"Way ahead of you, Mom," I whisper and stare out of the window.
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