softly, hoping, I could see, not to offend me further.
"Anything else?" I demanded.
He knew what I was getting at. "You did say my name," he admitted.
I sighed in defeat. "A lot?"
"How much do you mean by 'a lot,' exactly?"
"Oh no!" I hung my head.
He pulled me against his chest, softly, naturally.
"Don't be self-conscious," he whispered in my ear. "If I could dream at
all, it would be about you. And I'm not ashamed of it."
Then we both heard the sound of tires on the brick driveway, saw the
headlights flash through the front windows, down the hall to us. I
stiffened in his arms.
"Should your father know I'm here?" he asked.
"I'm not sure…" I tried to think it through quickly.
"Another time then…"
And I was alone.
"Edward!" I hissed.
I heard a ghostly chuckle, then nothing else.
My father's key turned in the door.
"Bella?" he called. It had bothered me before; who else would it be?
Suddenly he didn't seem so far off base.
"In here." I hoped he couldn't hear the hysterical edge to my voice. I
grabbed my dinner from the microwave and sat at the table as he walked
in. His footsteps sounded so noisy after my day with Edward.
"Can you get me some of that? I'm bushed." He stepped on the heels of his
boots to take them off, holding the back of Edward's chair for support.
I took my food with me, scarfing it down as I got his dinner. It burned
my tongue. I filled two glasses with milk while his lasagna was heating,
and gulped mine to put out the fire. As I set the glass down, I noticed
the milk trembling and realized my hand was shaking. Charlie sat in the
chair, and the contrast between him and its former occupant was comical.
"Thanks," he said as I placed his food on the table.
"How was your day?" I asked. The words were rushed; I was dying to escape
to my room.
"Good. The fish were biting… how about you? Did you get everything done
that you wanted to?"
"Not really — it was too nice out to stay indoors." I took another big
bite.
"It was a nice day," he agreed. What an understatement, I thought to
myself.
Finished with the last bite of lasagna, I lifted my glass and chugged the
remains of my milk.
Charlie surprised me by being observant. "In a hurry?"
"Yeah, I'm tired. I'm going to bed early."
"You look kinda keyed up," he noted. Why, oh why, did this have to be his
night to pay attention?
"Do I?" was all I could manage in response. I quickly scrubbed my dishes
clean in the sink, and placed them upside down on a dish towel to dry.
"It's Saturday," he mused.
I didn't respond.
"No plans tonight?" he asked suddenly.
"No, Dad, I just want to get some sleep."
"None of the boys in town your type, eh?" He was suspicious, but trying
to play it cool.
"No, none of the boys have caught my eye yet." I was careful not to
over-emphasize the word boys in my quest to be truthful with Charlie.
"I thought maybe that Mike Newton… you said he was friendly."
"He's Just a friend, Dad."
"Well, you're too good for them all, anyway. Wait till you get to college
to start looking." Every father's dream, that his daughter will be out of
the house before the hormones kick in.
"Sounds like a good idea to me," I agreed as I headed up the stairs.
"'Night, honey," he called after me. No doubt he would be listening
carefully all evening, waiting for me to try to sneak out.
"See you in the morning, Dad." See you creeping into my room tonight at
midnight to check on me.
I worked to make my tread sound slow and tired as I walked up the stairs
to my room. I shut the door loud enough for him to hear, and then
sprinted on my tiptoes to the window. I threw it open and leaned out into
the night. My eyes scanned the darkness, the impenetrable shadows of the
trees.
"Edward?" I whispered, feeling completely idiotic.
The quiet, laughing response came from behind me. "Yes?"
I whirled, one hand flying to my throat in surprise.
He lay, smiling hugely, across my bed, his hands behind his head, his
feet dangling off the end, the picture of ease.
"Oh!" I breathed, sinking unsteadily to the floor.
"I'm sorry." He pressed his lips together, trying to hide his amusement.
"Just give me a minute to restart my heart."
He sat up slowly, so as not to startle me again. Then he leaned forward
and reached out with his long arms to pick me up, gripping the tops of my
arms like I was a toddler. He sat me on the bed beside him.
"Why don't you sit with me," he suggested, putting a cold hand on mine.
"How's the heart?"
"You tell me — I'm sure you hear it better than I do."
I felt his quiet laughter shake the bed.
We sat there for a moment in silence, both listening to my heartbeat
slow. I thought about having Edward in my room, with my father in the
house.
"Can I have a minute to be human?" I asked.
"Certainly." He gestured with one hand that I should proceed.
"Stay," I said, trying to look severe.
"Yes, ma'am." And he made a show of becoming a statue on the edge of my
bed.
I hopped up, grabbing my pajamas from off the floor, my bag of toiletries
off the desk. I left the light off and slipped out, closing the door.
I could hear the sound from the TV rising up the stairs. I banged the
bathroom door loudly, so Charlie wouldn't come up to bother me.
I meant to hurry. I brushed my teeth fiercely, trying to be thorough and
speedy, removing all traces of lasagna. But the hot water of the shower
couldn't be rushed. It unknotted the muscles in my back, calmed my pulse.
The familiar smell of my shampoo made me feel like I might be the same
person I had been this morning. I tried not to think of Edward, sitting
in my room, waiting, because then I had to start all over with the
calming process. Finally, I couldn't delay anymore. I shut off the water,
toweling hastily, rushing again. I pulled on my holey t-shirt and gray
sweatpants. Too late to regret not packing the Victoria's Secret silk
pajamas my mother got me two birthdays ago, which still had the tags on
them in a drawer somewhere back home.
I rubbed the towel through my hair again, and then yanked the brush
through it quickly. I threw the towel in the hamper, flung my brush and
toothpaste into my bag. Then I dashed down the stairs so Charlie could
see that I was in my pajamas, with wet hair.
"'Night, Dad."
"'Night, Bella." He did look startled by my appearance. Maybe that would
keep him from checking on me tonight.
I took the stairs two at a time, trying to be quiet, and flew into my
room, closing the door tightly behind me.
Edward hadn't moved a fraction of an inch, a carving of Adonis perched on
my faded quilt. I smiled, and his lips twitched, the statue coming to
life.
His eyes appraised me, taking in the damp hair, the tattered shirt. He
raised one eyebrow. "Nice."
I grimaced.
"No, it looks good on you."
"Thanks," I whispered. I went back to his side, sitting cross-legged
beside him. I looked at the lines in the wooden floor.
"What was all that for?"
"Charlie thinks I'm sneaking out."
"Oh." He contemplated that. "Why?" As if he couldn't know Charlie's mind
much more clearly than I could guess.
"Apparently, I look a little overexcited."
He lifted my chin, examining my face.
"You look very warm, actually."
He bent his face slowly to mine, laying his cool cheek against my skin. I
held perfectly still.
"Mmmmmm…" he breathed.
It was very difficult, while he was touching me, to frame a coherent
question. It took me a minute of scattered concentration to begin.
"It seems to be… much easier for you, now, to be close to me."
"Does it seem that way to you?" he murmured, his nose gliding to the
corner of my jaw. I felt his hand, lighter than a moth's wing, brushing
my damp hair back, so that his lips could touch the hollow beneath my ear.
"Much, much easier," I said, trying to exhale.
"Hmm."
"So I was wondering…" I began again, but his fingers were slowly tracing
my collarbone, and I lost my train of thought.
"Yes?" he breathed.
"Why is that," my voice shook, embarrassing me, "do you think?"
I felt the tremor of his breath on my neck as he laughed. "Mind over
matter."
I pulled back; as I moved, he froze — and I could no longer hear the
sound of his breathing.
We stared cautiously at each other for a moment, and then, as his
clenched jaw gradually relaxed, his expression became puzzled.
"Did I do something wrong?"
"No — the opposite. You're driving me crazy," I explained.
He considered that briefly, and when he spoke, he sounded pleased.
"Really?" A triumphant smile slowly lit his face.
"Would you like a round of applause?" I asked sarcastically.
He grinned.
"I'm just pleasantly surprised," he clarified. "In the last hundred years
or so," his voice was teasing, "I never imagined anything like this. I
didn't believe I would ever find someone I wanted to be with… in another
way than my brothers and sisters. And then to find, even though it's all
new to me, that I'm good at it… at being with you…"
"You're good at everything," I pointed out.
He shrugged, allowing that, and we both laughed in whispers.
"But how can it be so easy now?" I pressed. "This afternoon…"
"It's not easy," he sighed. "But this afternoon, I was still… undecided.
I am sorry about that, it was unforgivable for me to behave so."
"Not unforgivable," I disagreed.
"Thank you." He smiled. "You see," he continued, looking down now, "I
wasn't sure if I was strong enough…" He picked up one of my hands and
pressed it lightly to his face. "And while there was still that
possibility that I might be… overcome" — he breathed in the scent at my
wrist — "I was… susceptible. Until I made up my mind that I was strong
enough, that there was no possibility at all that I would… that I ever
could…"
I'd never seen him struggle so hard for words. It was so… human.
"So there's no possibility now?"
"Mind over matter," he repeated, smiling, his teeth bright even in the
darkness.
"Wow, that was easy," I said.
He threw back his head and laughed, quietly as a whisper, but still
exuberantly.
"Easy for you!" he amended, touching my nose with his fingertip.
And then his face was abruptly serious.
"I'm trying," he whispered, his voice pained. "If it gets to be… too
much, I'm fairly sure I'll be able to leave."
I scowled. I didn't like the talk of leaving.
"And it will be harder tomorrow," he continued. "I've had the scent of
you in my head all day, and I've grown amazingly desensitized. If I'm
away from you for any length of time, I'll have to start over again. Not
quite from scratch, though, I think."
"Don't go away, then," I responded, unable to hide the longing in my
voice.
"That suits me," he replied, his face relaxing into a gentle smile.
"Bring on the shackles — I'm your prisoner." But his long hands formed
manacles around my wrists as he spoke. He laughed his quiet, musical
laugh. He'd laughed more tonight than I'd ever heard in all the time I'd
spent with him.
"You seem more… optimistic than usual," I observed. "I haven't seen you
like this before."
"Isn't it supposed to be like this?" He smiled. "The glory of first love,
and all that. It's incredible, isn't it, the difference between reading
about something, seeing it in the pictures, and experiencing it?"
"Very different," I agreed. "More forceful than I'd imagined."
"For example" — his words flowed swiftly now, I had to concentrate to
catch it all — "the emotion of jealousy. I've read about it a hundred
thousand times, seen actors portray it in a thousand different plays and
movies. I believed I understood that one pretty clearly. But it shocked
me…" He grimaced. "Do you remember the day that Mike asked you to the
dance?"
I nodded, though I remembered that day for a different reason. "The day
you started talking to me again."
"I was surprised by the flare of resentment, almost fury, that I felt — I
didn't recognize what it was at first. I was even more aggravated than
usual that I couldn't know what you were thinking, why you refused him.
Was it simply for your friend's sake? Was there someone else? I knew I
had no right to care either way. I tried not to care.
"And then the line started forming," he chuckled. I scowled in the
darkness.
"I waited, unreasonably anxious to hear what you would say to them, to
watch your expressions. I couldn't deny the relief I felt, watching the
annoyance on your face. But I couldn't be sure.
"That was the first night I came here. I wrestled all night, while
watching you sleep, with the chasm between what I knew was right, moral,
