Thursday, October 6, 2011

Massage Therapy, Chapter 18 - Countdown, day 4

Edward Cullen's Little Black Notebook
Thursday, September 2

“Edward? What are you doing out here?”

I turned at the sound of my better half’s voice, small and plaintive behind me. She stood shivering in her thin camisole and pajama pants, hugging her arms for warmth. I wanted to go to her and throw my arms around her, but the cigarette held me back. Its glowing stub in the dark was my siren call now; my escape from the things I didn’t want to face.

I took a long drag, admiring the brightening of the cigarette’s embers as I sucked the smoky air through its filter. Then I scowled at it for distracting me from the only thing in my life worth drawing breath for.

I tossed the stub to the gravelly roof beneath my feet and watched it smolder for a moment. Then I turned my back on it and went to Bella, putting my arms around her and pulling her close. I wondered if she ever aches for me the way I do for her. Even though I held her tightly, the melancholy still seeped through me. I never seem to be able to get close enough.

“I’m sorry if I woke you,” I murmured into her hair. I wound my fingers through its locks, tangling it further. I had already mussed it beyond recognition when I made love to her earlier, rolling her all over the bed and carefully pushing her pliant body into various positions that would allow my cock to pierce her as deeply as possible.

Never deep enough.

“I didn’t hear you leave,” she said quietly, her lips near my heart. “I rolled over and you were gone. The cold sheets woke me up.”

I rocked her gently in my arms. “So you like sleeping with me now?” I teased her. “You used to have trouble sleeping with me in the bed.”

“Now it’s the opposite,” she sighed into my chest.

“For me, too,” I whispered.

We stood quietly for a moment, swaying gently in the night breeze.

“Why are you smoking again?” Bella asked at last. Her tone wasn’t accusatory. It was worried.

I came up with a different lame defense than the one I’d given Alice. “It helps me think.”

“What are you thinking about?”

I sighed and buried my lips in her hair again. “Lots of things.”

“I wish you’d share them with me.” Her voice was small again.

“Be careful what you wish for.”

She scowled and looked up at me, searching for my eyes under the cloudy night sky.

“Stop trying to scare me. It’s too late for that.”

“I’m not trying to scare you,” I countered. “I’m trying to protect you.”

She let out a scoffing noise. “From what? You? Don’t bother.”

She reached up and touched my face, her hand gentle against my rough beard.

“I think you’re trying to protect yourself,” she said. Her insight was uncanny. Or maybe it was simply a given, as well as she knows me now. “It just hurts me that you feel like you need to protect yourself from me.”

I shook my head in denial. “I swear to you that’s not it. I trust you more than I’ve ever trusted anyone in my life.”

She let her hand drop, and then her eyes. She rested her head against my chest again and wrapped both arms around me.

“I know you do,” she said.

She sounded defeated. Whatever trust I was able to give her, it wasn’t enough. I wondered what she would think about that after she knew everything. After I gave her every bit of trust she needed from me, would she even want it anymore?

“Come on. Let’s go back to bed,” I suggested softly, giving her hair a final stroke. Arms still encircling her, I guided her back to the rooftop door. We descended the steps back to the loft, never letting go of one another. Arm in arm, we headed back to bed, then lay wrapped in each other’s embrace until consciousness waned.

As I drifted off, I wondered when her patience with me would run out.

I hoped it could last twelve more days.

No comments:

Post a Comment