Cosmogirl7181: So, I accept full responsibility for the late update. *hangs head*
Marvar: I can't let you take all the responsibility. We can blame Mr. Cosmo.
Cosmogirl7481: I think Mr. Cosmo might be a little jealous of Forthwithward. And by Fothwithward, I mean my hot wife.
Marvar: Well, I think we interact more than you two do. I know my hubs thinks I'm having a lesbian affair.
Cosmogirl7481: Did he ask if he could film it? Because Mr. Cosmo might have said something along those lines. Like casually...over coffee.
Marvar: *snorts* Yet another fine product we can sell to support FGBEclipse.
Re: Flying and Faux Pas
From: Edward Masen
To: Bella Swan
Re: Recent text disaster
I'm sorry I didn't get to talk to you very long last night, though the brief time talking to you was the highlight of the evening. Please let me attempt to explain the abject mortification I experienced. While the graduation itself was quite pleasant (the keynote speaker was someone named Leonardo Di Caprio – Alice thought that was significant. He looked unkempt to me and a shave wouldn't have killed him), the aftermath of my communications with several people had caused a moderate rift in my family. I told you about the text message mix-up, right? Well, I sent Alice's text to my father, which mentioned something very personal and not meant for my father's eyes. Needless to say, my father is livid with Alice, and she is not speaking to me. I spent most of my day trying to sort things out to no avail. Alice is. . . well, Alice.
I assume that you didn't have any of the same professors, right? If you did, please let me know so I can inform the right people.
Last night my family tried to avoid the topic, attempting to keep the focus on me, but my father's aggravation seeped through (I am not angry though, because it is my fault). I have, however, sworn off texting unless it is to you (I really like it when you send me messages. You know the kind I enjoy).
I miss you terribly, Bella. I don't think I adequately express how much. I look at your picture constantly; Emmett has caught me several times and made rude comments. I'll spare you because they're not meant for polite company - let's just say he mentioned "lube" and leave it at that. As if I'd need lubricant.
To be honest, I'm a bit afraid of how you will receive me when you see me again. I ask myself if you are as anxious as I am. I hope this whole relationship is real and not a fantasy world I have created. Sometimes you seem too good to be true. These things don't happen to me – "Boring Edward." Do you know that kids used to call me "Nerdward" in school? I would saucily reply that they were jealous of my superior intellect, but it still hurt. I think I still harbor those childhood insecurities. I should research that. My point being: guys like me don't get girls like you. I get. . . well, to be alone and do what Emmett said I was doing to your picture, and you get someone like, well that Di Caprio fellow Alice had a conniption over (still don't get the appeal).
I just really want this to work. You should know that I want you just the way you are.
Perfect. For me.
I hope you accept me – foibles and all.
From: Bella Swan
To: Edward Masen
Re: I Love Nerds
I am so sorry to hear that your graduation night was filled with family drama. It seems to me that your parents should have been able to put aside the situation with Alice long enough for you to get to celebrate one of the biggest milestones in your life. I'm sorry. I mean no disrespect to your family. It's just that if I had been the one with you…you would have been the center of my attention. Actually, just so we're clear…I'm pretty sure that there wouldn't even need to be an occasion like graduation for you to be the center of my attention.
You already are.
And will continue to be.
I'm glad you haven't sworn off texting me. But when you think about it, neither of us has the best track record when it comes to text. You with your multiple-message mishap and me with the inappropriate message I sent you from Alice's phone. I'm beginning to think that you and I are more MFEO than I ever imagined. Plus, I didn't really mind the French that you spoke to me last night when I got disappointed that your text wasn't actually meant for me.
By the way, Dr. Masen, I want you to know that I looked up what "Je veux etre avec toi" means. And Edward, I want to be with you, too. So much.
Edward, I understand that you are nervous about seeing me again, but I think that you are nervous about the wrong things. And since you asked, I am anxious. I am anxious about what it will be like to feel you hold me now, kiss me now…and well, other things. I have no anxiety about you or what I think it will be like when we are together. I think that it will be perfect…not because we are perfect, but because I think we are perfect for each other. I understand your thoughts about this all being a fantasy, but Edward, I put those thoughts to rest the moment I heard your voice. And while I hope that you fantasize about me…I am not a fantasy. I am real and I am waiting for you to get here. I happened to you. We happened to each other. You said it yourself…fate and magic.
I'm sorry to hear that kids called you "Nerdward" in school. It probably was because you were smarter than them. Kids are pretty much assholes. Does it help you to know that your intellect is one of the things that I find most attractive? Would it make you feel better to know that I get turned on a little every time you tell me something that I didn't know before…or when you use a word like foibles?
I want you, Edward. I want all of you and I want exactly who you are.
Counting the moments until I'm with you again,
Leonardo Di Caprio is short and gross (and also kind of bloated lately). Anyway, he pales in comparison to you. Alice can have him if she wants.
Finally on the plane. What a nightmare at my parents' house yesterday. My father was cursing and my mother was trying to calm him down. I think I may have pulled out some of my hair with the relentless tugging. At least I don't have "Muppet hair" like Alice's so-called boyfriend. I'll have to ask her if he wears a wig because of Alopecia. There are some great drugs available for that now.
My dad had called Alice this morning and started screaming. I never heard him react that way. He was furious. My mom cried. I paced. He passed the phone to me and I got an earful from my sister. She thought I told my father on purpose. She said that I "don't make mistakes" so I must have wanted to sabotage her relationship. I had to do some self-analysis, but did not find any evidence of a subconscious need to destroy my sister. I will continue to monitor that situation, however. It was not my happiest moment. And actually, I was hoping to create a new one of those on my trip. I have a feeling that all my academic awards will be overshadowed by one weekend with Bella.
After my dad ranted a series of "I knew I shouldn't have let her move across country," and "I'm going to call the Dean," my mom calmed down my father by reminding him that he was her TA in her college bio lab. He sort of shut up after that. But Alice wasn't appeased.
So, she's not speaking to me. I wanted to visit her when I arrived in California, but I guess that was a moot point now. Oh, well. More time with Bella. This seems like an appropriate time to fist bump Emmett, but I refrain.
"Edward, so what the hell happened last night?" Emmett asks when we are safely in the air. I groan and shake my head.
"It was a complete disaster, Emmett. I sent the wrong texts to four people. I have never been so irresponsible before. I have to reexamine my texting protocols. That sort of behavior is unacceptable."
He is laughing and I want to punch him (great, now I have violent tendencies on top of lack of focus). "Dude, everyone sends texts to the wrong people. You are just not used to not being perfect."
I open my mouth to retort, but he is correct. "I tried to repair the damage, but she wouldn't accept my apology," I sigh.
"Bella will forgive you soon," he replies. "She's way fucking into you, judging by the emails I may or may not have read. You must have a way with those awkward words, because you got her to fall for you from across the country."
Fall for me? Did she? Like I fell for her? My mind started calculating the probability of such an event. But I had no numbers. No quantifiable data. Just intense feelings swirling around, tightening my stomach and squeezing my heart (not my actual heart, obviously), the metaphorical one that Cupid slings his arrows into. I'm glad I didn't say that out loud because Emmett would tease me mercilessly for ending my sentence with a preposition.
"Don't worry, bro. She'll forget about the mix-up when she sees your ass at her place." He thinks I'm upset because I haven't responded.
"Alice is the one who's angry. I texted to my dad that she was having an affair with her history professor," I state, still upset with the situation. "She won't talk to me. Bella, um, she sort of liked the text I sent her." I smile at the thought of my Bella. I was going to see her in just 5 hours.
Emmett laughs. "I like her. She's good for you, Ed. You never smiled when you were seeing Jessica."
I frown at the sound of her name. "Yeah, you looked like that most of the time," he says, looking at me. He gets that wistful look, like something is eluding him. He changes the subject abruptly. "So, do you think that I'll, I mean, you'll, talk to her roommate when we get there? You haven't met her yet, huh?"
"No, I just saw her at the bar. Bella talks about her all of the time, and so does Alice. They've become good friends. Why do you ask, Emmett?" I am starting to agree with Bella that Emmett and Rosalie are hiding something. He is just too interested in her.
"Uh, she, um. . ." his statement is interrupted by the flight attendant taking drink orders. She makes sure we are comfortable and have everything we need.
"I think I will send an email to the airlines complementing the fine service. It's almost like we have our own attendant," I comment. Emmett snorts and mumbles something like "fucking clueless to women throwing themselves at him." I wonder why he doesn't speak louder. I make a note that I need to research this.
When we arrive in San Francisco, it is beautiful and sunny - a rarity, according to Google weather. I take this as a positive sign (if I were to believe in such a thing) that I've made a good decision in surprising her. I just didn't want her to lose focus during her finals week. I also thought I was making a romantic gesture like in the movies that I used to watch with Nana Cullen.
After getting my rental car, a silver Volvo (it had the highest safety rating), we check into the hotel and shower and change. I don't want to spread any germs that I picked up on my flight to Bella. I stop to buy flowers for Bella on the way to her place - Cary Grant would do that, right? My anxiety ratcheted up a few notches as we pulled in front of her apartment building.
"Are you sure you want me to go up with you, Edward? What if you want to get freaky with her against the door? I really don't want to see that shit. Well, not you anyway. I'd like to see Ni-" Emmett stops mid-stream, realizing that he has said too much.
"I want you to meet her. She's important. She's . . . everything," I exhale, slowly, erratically, trying to calm myself. I need to see her. . . touch her responsive, rosy flesh. Wind my hands through her long, satiny hair. Kiss her soft, pink mouth. I can't wait any longer. I pause, then I bound up the steps; I don't bother with the elevator. Emmett is lagging behind - cursing, presumably at me, because there is no one else in the stairwell. I doubt if Emmett has an imaginary friend. Not that here's anything wrong with that. I know, I checked.
"Fuck, Edward, you're like part cheetah or some shit. I know you haven't had any in two months, but turn the stealth mode off." He grumbles something like, 'he got a head start,' but I can't be sure and I really don't care. I'm at the door. Her door. I breathe deeply, a cleansing breath, not unlike a woman in labor would take if practicing Lamaze birthing techniques.
I ring the bell, smiling and waiting for my Bella to open the door. I hear the locks disengage and smile impossibly wider. A beautiful, blonde woman opens the door. I know this is Rosalie. I remember her from Miami. She looks stunned, then angry as her eyes flicker to Emmett. I hear Emmett exhale loudly, and her face softens for just a second before she turns red. "What the hell are you doing here?" she hisses.
"I – I came to see Bella," I stammer. "I'm Edward. Masen. Her boyfriend?" I really didn't expect such a response.
She looks horrified and she apologizes, "Oh, Edward. I'm so sorry. I was talking to God's gift to bar sluts over there, not you. I'm Rosalie." She shakes my hand, then seems to change her mind and hugs me.
Emmett makes a sound like he's going to protest, but she shoots him a look that shuts him up.
I feel incrementally better about the situation, but I still haven't seen Bella. "Rosalie, it is a pleasure to meet you, but I really would like to see Bella. Can you tell her I'm here?"
She puts her hand over her mouth and stifles a gasp.
"Edward. She's gone."
As soon as I hit the send button on my email to Edward, I know what I am about to do. And yeah, I know it's crazy. But everything about us has been crazy so far. From the South Beach bar . . . to the 'one night stand'. . . to the emails. Oh, the emails. I think I might just be falling in love with Edward Masen. Fuck, I think that maybe I am already in love with him. And yes, I know that's crazy, but once again I refer to the list of crazy that I've just spouted off in my head.
Shut the fuck up, Bella.
You're not in love with him.
I don't think I can wait another three weeks to be with him. And why should I have to? He has graduated and I am through with finals. I want to be with him. I need to see him and kiss him and maybe do some of the things that we have boldly spoken about in the last couple weeks. I want to be with Edward…in every sense of the word. I want to hold his hand and kiss his lips when I don't reek of scotch and taste like Jack Daniels. I wonder briefly if I've been drinking too much lately. I mean, there seems to have been an awful lot of alcohol in my system in the last couple months. But then I think that alcohol was what brought me to Edward and it was also what caused me to send him the highly inappropriate text message that led to us having our first actual conversation on the phone. So, yeah…maybe I should order a drink at the airport bar.
I'm going to do this.
I'm going to fly to New Hampshire to see Edward.
I look at one of the pictures that Alice gave me of Edward that I have on my nightstand. He is smiling in this picture and, like an idiot, I want to kiss it…no, I want to kiss him. I want to kiss Edward and I don't want to wait three more weeks to do it!With that thought, I open the door to my closet and pull out my purple Hello Kitty suitcase and I start packing.
This is crazy.
Yes, this is definitely crazy!
I haven't told a soul where I am going, but as I hand over my bag to be checked, I don't care. The girl behind the counter is staring at my suitcase like it's stupid and I momentarily want to say something to her about not being a pretentious and judgmental bitch and that Hello Kitty is iconic like Audrey Hepburn, but I hold my tongue. I don't want to end up in New Hampshire with no clothes…wait; maybe I can say something to this bitch after all.
I'm sorry, Edward. I have no clothes.
When I finally land in New Hampshire, I am slightly tired. One thought about the fact that I will see Edward soon is enough to perk me up. I realize that I still have my phone turned off, so I pull it from my bag and turn it on. I am pleased to see that there are no new text messages. I wonder what Rosalie is doing. Usually she would have called or texted me by now. I scroll down the list and find Edward's name and with butterflies in my stomach, I call him. I wonder what he will say when he answers. Surely, he'll be excited that I'm here. I can't wait to hear his voice. I don't get a chance to find out because the call goes straight to voicemail. I have a nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach, but I push it aside. He is probably just in the shower.
Mmm…in the shower.
Thirty minutes later, I am sitting in a plastic chair with my suitcase in front of me. Edward still hasn't answered the phone and I realize that I am across the fucking country and that I am alone. I don't know where he lives and I am stuck here in this airport. I begin to panic. I decide to call Alice to see if she knows where he is. My hands are kind of trembling and I don't know if it's because I'm nervous or if it's because I'm hungry. The truth is that I'm both.
"Bella!" she says as she answers her phone. "What's going on?"
"Umm…" I start. "Have you heard from your brother?"
"No," she replies, "but I'm really not speaking to him at the moment. Who the fuck doesn't know how to send a simple text message? My parents are furious and it's all Edward's fault. I told him not to tell anyone and what's the first thing that he does? He sends a text message straight to my father!"
"Alice," I interrupt her. "Listen to me. Do you know where Edward is?"
"You mean he didn't tell you?" she asks. "It's all or nothing with him, isn't it. He tells one person too much and not enough to the other."
"Alice, what are you talking about?" I ask, growing more and more nervous by the minute.
"Edward went away with Emmett this weekend, Bella. I can't believe that he didn't tell you," she says.
Fuck my life.
My mind is spinning at this new information. I have flown across the country, only to find out that Edward isn't here. He's on some trip with Emmett. And I want to be mad at him, really I do, but this is my own fault because I make stupid decisions. I am everything that my parents say that I am. I am flighty and impetuous and I don't think things through before I make decisions. I feel my bottom lip quivering and then a hot tear fall down my cheek.
"Bella, Bella, are you there?" I hear Alice ask.
"Yes. I'm here…there…here," I say stupidly and I know that she can hear the tears in my voice.
"What's going on, Bella? What do you mean?"
I tell Alice the story and before I know what happening, she has handled everything. She has called the airline and changed my flight home. They are able to book me on a flight tonight, but I will be stuck here in this stupid airport for four more hours. I tell Alice thank you for helping me and she tells me that even though she is pissed at her brother, she knows that he would be so disappointed that he wasn't here to see me. I tell her that I know and ask her to tell him to call me if she hears from him. She reluctantly agrees to take his call, but stipulates that she still reserves the right to be pissed.
What the fuck just happened? Did I just fly five hours to California to see my girlfriend for the first time in two months, and she's not there? And am I permanently peppering my speech with expletives now? Sadly, the answer is yes to both questions.
Rosalie grabs my hand and says, "I'm sorry, Edward. She left earlier. I guess she went to see her mother and father. Why don't you come in for a bit?" She pulls me into the apartment. She motions to Emmett that he can come in, too - begrudgingly.
I still can't respond. I look around frantically, desperately hoping Rosalie is mistaken. This is not helping. I'm reminded of her beauty, the same beauty I mistakenly thought I would be enjoying up close and personal. Bella is everywhere. Bella and Rosalie. Bella and her family. Me.
Me? How did she. . .Alice. That was her favorite picture of me. She took it herself. I'm staring at myself, framed, in Bella's home.
"She can't stop looking at that photo of you, Edward," Rosalie remarks.
Suddenly, I'm overwhelmed with emotion. Emmett moves toward me and puts his arm across my shoulders.
"Hey, Edward. I know you are bummed, but just remember you're moving here soon. It's really nice for her that she went to see her folks," Emmett offers, trying to reassure me. Rosalie looks at him, but her scowl is gone. It's replaced by. . .wonder?
I appreciate his effort, but nothing he can say short of "oh, look, Bella just got here," is going to matter. "I'm going home, Emmett. If she's not here, then there's nothing."
I sit on the plane thinking about what just happened. I am the world's biggest moron, no matter what my recent Stanford-Binet scores say. Not even the standard deviation can account for this discrepancy. All I had to do was tell her I was coming. But no, I had to surprise her. Well, surprise, Edward. You are alone again.
Emmett tried to persuade me to stay, but I just couldn't. He drove me to the airport, and now I'm in my ninth hour of flight today. I'm watching some horrible remake of Alice in Wonderland. Surely Lewis Carroll is rolling over in his grave. But not even this drivel can take my mind off of my colossal mistake. Not even looking for errors in my medical journals is interesting right now.
I think back to when I saw my photo in her house. I wonder if she looks at my photo as much as I did hers. I wonder if she feels. . .like I do. I keep wondering because I can't ask her. Fuck. Who cares if I curse? I'm quite incensed. "Shucks" is just not adequate to convey the anger I feel.
I decide that I definitely need a drink, so I head to a bar in the airport. While I am waiting on the bartender to make my Jack and Diet Coke, another girl sits down beside me. She is blondish. And by 'blondish,' I mean that you can tell that blonde is the color she was going for, but she really needs to get her roots done. She smiles at me before pulling a compact mirror from her purse and starts to literally powder her nose. I have to force myself not to laugh out loud because who the fuck does that?
Go to the bathroom, Barbie. They have bigger mirrors in there.
She smells like cheap perfume. You know the kind – all super-sweet and sickening. It probably came in a pink bottle with a picture of Paris Hilton or Britney Spears on it. I wonder momentarily why anyone would want to smell like a whore that fell into cotton-candy machine, but clearly, that is exactly the fragrance that she is going for.
I try to figure out how I can move away from her, but the bar is really tiny and the rest of the barstools are taken. I'm definitely not leaving – not if I have to be stuck here for another three hours and forty-five minutes. The bartender brings me my drink and I decide that the smell of whiskey is (almost) stronger than her perfume, so I decide that I can hug it out.
I am so wrong.
I should have left because as soon as I take a drink, she starts talking to me.
Obviously, she is a stellar conversationalist.
"Yeah, they do," I agree lamely.
"I mean, they don't even have champagne in this place."
"Well, they don't really want to serve any celebratory liquor since they know the place sucks and all," I tell her sarcastically. "If you really like champagne, maybe you should audition to be on The Bachelor. They are always drinking champagne on that show."
You seem like just the kind of woman that those douche-bags are always giving roses to.
I don't watch The Bachelor, but Rose does so that she can make fun of all the stupid women on the show. Which, I have to say, is really kind of funny. I miss Rose right now and I wish that she was sitting here with me instead of this girl. I take another drink and try not to let the irritating sound of her voice bother me too much.
"That is the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me!" she exclaims.
I have to think about what I've said because I know I didn't say anything nice.
"You really think I could be on The Bachelor?"
"Do you want to be on The Bachelor?" I ask before I can stop myself.
I feel bad for being such a bitch, because my pissy mood has nothing to do with this girl. (Well, the perfume isn't helping my mood, but how was she to know that she would be sitting next to a normal girl and not a pimp?) Fuck, now I feel bad for thinking of her as a whore in my mind. She is stuck in the airport just like me…and I am stuck here because I am a dumbass. Yes, I am a dumbass that doesn't think that she should tell her boyfriend that she is flying out to see him before she gets on a fucking plane and flies five hours across the country. Dumbass is definitely worse than whore. At least whores get to have sex.
Stop thinking of her as a whore, Bella.
She could be a completely lovely girl with unfortunate taste in perfume…and TV shows.
"I would love to be on that show," she tells me. "I need a new boyfriend...one that isn't a loser."
"I'm sorry," I offer genuinely. "Did you just go through a break-up?"
"Oh, God no!" she exclaims. "I dumped his ass a long time ago. I've just been playing the field."
"Why did you dump him?" I ask, cursing my own stupid curiosity.
"Well," she begins and places her finger on her chin and I notice that her nails are fake…just like her hair. "He wasn't good in bed, but he was so damn fine. That is until he opened his mouth. If I could have just looked at him while he didn't speak, it would have been great."
As she speaks, I realize that I may hate someone that I barely know. And once again, I feel bad. But she continues speaking.
"He is a medical student, you know. So, he is going to be a doctor. I thought that I could hold out for that. I mean, who doesn't want to date a doctor? Especially a hot doctor with bronze sex-hair and fuck-me eyes. Even if he wasn't good at the sexy or the fucking part."
At her words, I am enraged. And I don't get angry. Ever. But right now, I want to reach across the bar and pull her bleached-blonde hair out because I realize that she is talking about Edward…my Edward. And nobody – especially not this little bitch – is going to talk about him like this.
"Listen," I say sweetly, channeling Rose. "You couldn't possibly be named Jessica, could you?"
"Oh, my god!" she exclaims. "I don't even remember telling you my name."
Christ, she's stupid. How did he ever date her?
"You didn't," I tell her. "I've just…umm…heard about you."
"Oh, are we in class together?"
"No…we don't share a class, but we do have something in common."
"What?" she asks. "Like the same shoe size?"
I shake my head because she is truly the most stupid woman I have ever encountered. I am questioning what it is that Edward could have seen in her when I remember his words about how she made him feel. She made him feel like he was inferior and that he wasn't good with girls. I lift my glass to my mouth and swallow the rest of my drink in one gulp and I turn on my stool so that I am facing her.
"Jessica, was your ex-boyfriend's name Edward?"
A look of shock crosses her face.
"You know everything!" she exclaims in a loud, shrill voice. "How do you know that?"
"Well, because my boyfriend's name is Edward," I tell her. "What are the odds that they're the same person?"
Her eyes are big and open and she looks confused.
"I don't know. What are the odds?"
Oh. My. God.
Something from deep within me makes me want to tell her what a stupid bitch she really is, but I don't know if I know any words that are small enough for her to understand.
"Pretty good, I'm thinking," I tell her sarcastically. "You're Jessica, the ex-girlfriend that broke up with him and told him that he didn't have any game. Does that sound familiar?"
Wow, realization seems to dawn on her face. I'm surprised by her perception. I laugh a little because she probably doesn't even know what perception means.
"You are dating Edward?" she asks. "Why?"
"Well, let me tell you why. Because he's sweet and smart and what was it that you called him? Oh, yeah. A hot doctor with sex hair and fuck-me eyes."
My voice is raised slightly and I suck in a breath. When I speak again, my voice is lower.
"I can't believe that you would ever break-up with him because, really…he's amazing. Don't get me wrong, sweetie. I'm happy that you did, but I just thought that maybe you should know…that was a huge mistake on your part. He's remarkable, truly. You said that he wasn't good at sex," I tell her, snorting. "Well, let me tell you…he can make me come with his words. Just his words." It's the truth, so I don't even feel bad about saying it. "So, you can only imagine what he can do with his…well, you know. You've seen it."
She doesn't need to know that she has seen it more times than me. And quite honestly, I don't really want to think about her having sex with my boyfriend. Even if it was bad sex. And then it dawns on me. I don't want to ever think about him with anyone else. . .ever. Because he's mine and I think that maybe. . .just maybe. . .am I?
"I guess what I'm trying to say to you is…thank you. If you hadn't done those things, I never would have met him and he would probably still be with you having an allergy attack from your stupid perfume. You should check out something that isn't marketed to twelve year-old girls. And you're in the perfect place. It's duty-free in the airport."
I don't wait for her to say anything. I just pull some money from my pocket and put it on the counter. I pick up Hello Kitty and I walk out of the bar. I think that I should feel bad for saying the things that I said, but I don't. He might not be here, but he is my Edward and I just can't feel bad about defending him to that stupid (and by stupid, I mean really, fucking stupid) bitch.
When my plane lands, I gather my bag and walk slowly through the tunnel. I pass through the doors, utterly defeated. I just want to go home and forget this day ever happened, but I keep thinking about. . .her. In front of me a couple is embracing, their joy apparent in their reunion. It is like salt pouring into my wounds and I look away.
I see long, brown hair from afar and I mutter 'Bella.' Now I'm delusional. I blink to clear my head as the head that the brown hair is attached to, turns to face me.
Oh. That is a very unattractive man. But who am I to judge?
I pass the other gates because, of course, my plane arrived at the last one. And then. . . it's her. Not in my mind, not a photo, not words in print.
"Bella!" I yell across the terminal. Her head snaps up and her eyes widen at the sight of me. They are slightly red and puffy but amazingly beautiful. She must have been crying. She jumps up and runs toward me. I freeze, not knowing what she's doing. Her arms capture me first, flinging around my shoulders and grasping my neck while her body slams against me a split-second later, legs wrapping around my waist. Instinctively, I grasp her securely around her bottom.
I'm still frozen, as I'm sure this is a hallucination brought on by my desperate need to be with her. She is a mirage and I am lost in the Sahara without food or drink. Then the vision speaks, "Edward! You're here. I can't believe you're here!"
At the sound of her voice, I know this is real. She's in my arms, well, actually completely wrapped around me, but now I know that this is where she belongs. I actually know much more than that. I know what those feelings are now, the ones that I never felt before and couldn't explain. And I am overwhelmed with the need to tell her. Her face is tucked under my chin, her lips placing feathery kisses along my jaw, and I don't want it to stop. But I want to see her when I tell her. I pull back, stopping her momentarily. The way she looks at me lets me know that this is right. I try not to be rendered speechless by the emotion in her eyes.
"I'm here. And. . . I love you, Bella."
"Oh, Edward. . .I – I love you, too."
Thank you for all of the reviews. We read and cherish every single one. It's been very difficult to respond, so we can't promise Edward in your box (but one can hope).
LiMB is up for a Twilight All Human Award for "The fanfiction that had you crying with laughter." Go vote. Thank you to whoever nominated us.
To bid on LiMB for FGBEclipse, contact AllyinPerth on Twitter or ChampagneAnyone on ff. She is the team captain.
Check out the 'I Belong to Edward' shirt on Zazzle, created by the wonderful justduckie.
Follow us on Twitter: Cosmogirl7481 and Marvar29 or Forthwithward and xoDizzyBella69