A/N:

Thanks to What The Fun and ViolaOphelia for pre-reading, and to everyone who reviewed! This is another quote from the original screenplay, cut from the movie. You can read it online.

"That's a poem. Do you know what it means?"

"No, I don't, Mr. Kane."

"I didn't used to be afraid of it."

- Kane & Raymond

February 27, 2010

Bella

"You know that I love you, right?"

The dread caused by his assurance makes me look away, up toward the ceiling.

No good conversation ever included those words.

"I know." My voice sounds like it belongs to someone else.

"Then what are you so afraid of?"

The end.

Becoming my mother.

Loving you so, so hard.

"I need you to talk to me, Edward says gently, taking my hand in his. "I need to know what makes you angry or sad or confused... How can I make you happy if I don't know how?"

His earnest concern makes my heart ache. Desperate for an escape from the growing pain, I study my ceiling with forced interest, finding a imperfect area to focus on.

Jess and I painted it years ago. The sky blue paint covered us more than it covered the drywall, but since we were only 15, we were so proud to have done it ourselves.

When I later noticed the white spots we missed, Jessica shrugged and called them clouds.

"What are you thinking right now?" Edward interrupts, disheartened yet still curious.

I shrug, embarrassed to be proving his point over something so trivial. But this conversation is so forced, now. And why should Edward care about my clouds?

He sighs, and the tired sound gives me a much-needed dose of compassion.

"I'm sorry. I know I should tell you things. It's just..."

My body is jostled slightly as Edward removes his weight from the bed. A foreign brand of panic grips me, and I sit up, having the sudden urge to beg him to stay. I've never begged anyone for anything.

The fingers of my right hand press together, already missing his warmth. He leans down to kiss my forehead, letting his lips linger against my skin.

"Isabella..."

My heart speeds at the familiar sound and feel of my full name, but there's a sad tint to it today.

"I think you should want to tell me these things."

Edward straightens, returning to his usual height. Then he turns and heads for the hall. I open my mouth in protest, but he's the only one to say something.

"I'll be back tomorrow."

My eyes sting when he walks through the doorway, not even waiting for a reply. Given my recent silence, I suppose I can't expect much else.

Several minutes pass before I hear the front door shut.

I hastily brush the escaped tears from my cheeks, hating the proof of my inability to communicate properly. Hoping against hope that Edward won't give up on me.

It's a good sign that he's not on his way to Seattle. But where will he sleep tonight? The inn? His brother's house?

The only clear truth is that I'm not invited.

With more than a little effort, I relax my hand, stopping my fingernails from digging into my palm.

I want to redo that entire conversation.

I should have told him that this isn't his fault. That I'm this closed-off with everyone sometimes, even Jessica and Angela. If the subject is scary or hurts badly enough.

But would that really have made him feel any better?

Reluctant to move yet needing a change of scenery, I clumsily climb off my bed. I trade my shorts for sweatpants before heading to the kitchen, feeling much colder than before.

When I get to the fridge - the supposed reason for going downstairs - it feels more like an afterthought. I half-heartedly grab a bottle of soda, just so the trip doesn't feel pointless.

I glance out the kitchen window as I unscrew the top, too aware of the car missing from my driveway. But now that the fridge is closed, I also notice something on the table.

I set down my drink before approaching cautiously, as if the piece of paper is a ticking time bomb. Or worse, a Dear John letter. But there aren't enough words on the paper for that. Right?

Unconvinced, my breathing remains unsteady as I reach for the note.

When I recognize the familiar, loved line, my heart isn't doing much better. Its beats are erratic, unable to decide between happiness and despair.

Hesitantly, my thumb runs over the words that my bookmark ballerina must have told.

Springtime, and I wish I knew you.

July 24, 2010

Bella

"J," I announce, trying out the sound on my tongue.

It's a random outburst, with no pretext to speak of, but there's this new feeling of guilt creeping up on me. I need to drown it with something unimportant.

My abductor looks up from his book, unknowingly confirming my choice.

"What?" His questioning tone is brisk, and it overpowers my own by far.

"You look like a J."

Several expressions flicker across his face, each one changing before I can pinpoint all the differences. Even so, it's clear he's unhappy with the nickname.

I don't see why. It's not like he knows the J actually stands for Jerk.

"Like J-A-Y?" he clarifies.

"Uh huh," I lie, not wanting him to find out.

For whatever reason, this relaxes him.

"Okay. Whatever," he murmurs distractedly, once again focusing on To Kill a Mockingbird.

An odd choice in my opinion, but maybe he assumes the classic is a how-to guide.

I rest my hands in my lap, startling when I feel my stomach rumble slightly.

"J?" I repeat, having an actual question this time.

He sighs in exasperation.

"You know, I liked you better when you didn't talk."

I ignore the jab, somehow knowing that this isn't totally true.

"Do you mind if I make something in the kitchen?"

"Like what?" he asks, eyes still on his page.

"Shepherd's Pie."

J shrugs, trying to feign nonchalance, but his face shows his interest in real food. Plain tuna and canned vegetables get old fast, no matter who you are.

"You can look around the cupboards if you want. I think I saw some instant potatoes in there."

"Thanks," I say, somewhat surprised that he's letting me do this. Then again, he hasn't left any bottles of antifreeze lying around.

I stand up as that ugly thought sinks in, not wanting to answer the question of whether I would kill him if I could.

For now, I'll just enjoy the normalcy of poison-free cooking.

A/N:

Chapter 13 should help if you're confused by the first moment. The updated timeline is on my profile (Chapt. 29 Outline).

xoxo