Ficawesome Gift Exchange- 3some
Title: Black Clouds and Silver Linings
Written for: One Brave Lamb
Written By: chartwilightmom
Summary/Prompt used:Couple meets because of an organ donation, immediately hate? are immediately enraptured with? - but question because of the nature of their meeting.
A/N: For those of you who read most of my stories, you know I'm a fluff writer and angst is hard for me, so this is a stretch for me.
Huge thanks to my mistress, Vampiremama who arranged a lot of FAGE and makes me blush just thinking about her.
Thanks to Tammygrrrl for beta'ing.
Thanks to beegurl13 who whipped up a banner for me super duper fast. You can see the banner at
http : / chartwilightmom . blogspot . com / ?zx=464daf1bbd446af5
And hugs, kisses and bewbie gropes to Elvirina for pre-reading this, over and over and over and over again, as well as pushing me with my writing.
If you would like to see all the stories that are a part of this exchange visit the facebook group: Fanficaholics Anon: Where Obsession Never Sleeps or add the C2 to get all the stories direct to your inbox. /community /FAGE_3some / 93625 /
Staring out the window, I see the grey clouds that cover the sky, masking the sun, the warmth that it brings, and the happiness. I sigh heavily. It's like mother-nature imitating my life and emotions with the weather.
There is a cloud that covers me, masking the dreary and dull pain I feel inside. To everyone else my life seems perfect, happy, so why would I be unhappy?
Simple, feeling forced into a marriage only to find out later that you are married to a man that knows nothing about love, about companionship, or about true happiness. The thought of informing my parents that my marriage has turned out to be a façade is too much to bear. With the passion gone, I feel forced to live a lie, to please everyone around me; my friends and family, even though it was my parents that pushed this situation upon me. They were callous in their wants to see me off and married to someone they approved of, not thinking that I would regret marrying this man, that I might be happier alone.
Everyday I wake up and robotically move through my life, wondering if there is anything I can do to break out of this cloud and feel the sun.
Fuck, just to feel anything.
"Miss, can I take your order?" My attention snaps back to the space that I am currently in, a coffee shop, where I'm standing in line to place an order.
"Large vanilla latte, skim milk, please."
After my order is placed, I pay silently then watch the choreographed movements of the employees balancing multiple orders without spilling hot liquid all over each other in the process.
I step back, lingering with the other customers awaiting their orders, when I see him.
It is not the first time I have seen him here. How could you miss his striking good looks, copper top and impeccable clothes?
Fuck, I bet he looks better out of those clothes.
The sight of him brings a smile to my face, he is like the sun that is hiding behind the clouds of my life, and I squirm thinking of the depth of warmth that he could bring me.
But I'm a married woman, and no matter how much I would love to feel his long fingers all over my body, or the way his hips would thrust between my legs or his soft lips against my own, I can't. Even though my marriage is loveless, and of course sexless, I couldn't cheat; infidelity isn't something I could live with, even if the life that I'm 'living' isn't much of one.
So my fantasies of this man, the one that smiles sweetly at me every time I see him, will have to remain that, a fantasy.
She kills me.
Her thick mahogany hair, flowing down her back, long legs that I wish to have my head buried in between, and the deepest pools of brown eyes that I just want to look into every moment of forever.
Then as I eye fuck her up and down, the sparkle from her left hand distracts as well as deters me. Each time, it stops my perusal of her.
Married, just my fucking luck.
I wonder each time if the ring will disappear. That the next time I see her, those brown eyes will be puffy and red rimmed, giving me the slightest inclination that she is single and in need of my comfort.
Sadistic of me, I know.
So the impractical idea of her, with me, will just have to stay that way.
After I retrieve my coffee, I give a smile only for her and leave.
So I go back to being patient with everything in my life, back to waiting, hoping that maybe today will be the day, the day that something will change.
"Hi honey, I'm home," I announce entering the room.
Alice peeks up from her laptop and smiles. She looks fairly good today, happy, but the dark circles under her eyes are more prominent.
"Eddie, I told you I would call." She offers me a weak smile.
"And I told you that I would stop by."
"I'm at the top of the list." Her smile grows wider.
Cocking my head, I sit on the couch opposite of her and silently request that she update me.
I am home. This is the worst part of my day, being home.
A huge gray, modern architecture house glares at me from the road as I approach, as if to mock me by showing me the cage in which I resign myself to in order to please my parents.
The cloud that was lightened by the sight of him today has now darkened, covering and almost swallowing me, making every breath I take feel like my last.
The house is silent as usual, my 'husband' still hard at work at his office.
The hours trickle by, and I go about duties in the house that have become the only thing that carry me through the day, allowing my brain to focus on something other than what awaits for me when he comes home.
A peck on the cheek.
A thank you for dinner.
Then his retirement to his study where he will work late into the night.
We didn't start out this way. James was attentive, sweet and caring when we first met, and I thought that he could be everything I wanted in a husband. More so, everything my parents could want for me.
How ignorant of us all to think such things.
I can't remember the last time we sat together and enjoyed a movie, or snuggled in front of a fire sharing a nice bottle of wine, or even slept in the same bed together.
After seven years of marriage, I would still want to have these activities with my husband, to feel loved and needed. Each day goes by, my life wasting away under the clouds.
He always comes home, even if he has dinner meetings or works late in the office. Not that it matters if he is here in the house or not, because even then we act like roommates and not a husband and wife.
But he doesn't come home tonight, and even though I should worry, I don't.
Around midnight, I am ready for bed, settling into my cold side of our oversized bed to read when the doorbell rings.
Rain pours outside, creating this intense and consistent noise through the silent house, a background noise that is numbing. Flicking on the outside light, I peek through the side window to find a rain-soaked law enforcement officer.
"May I help you?"
The young man looks scared, like he isn't sure what to ask or what to say.
"I'm afraid there has been an accident."
My mind goes straight to my parents, Charlie and Renee. I can't imagine my life without them; my mom with her kind, soft voice, encouraging me through life to be whatever I wanted to be and my father with his faith that I will make them proud and be honorable to our family name. They are the ones I love the most in this world, the reason I married and have kept my wedding vows.
"James Larson is at County General, I need you to come with me."
"Edward!" Alice screams into the phone when I answer.
I rub my eyes, already having fallen asleep to the thoughts of brown eyes. "Calm down, Alice."
"It's time, there is a donor!"
An hour later, we are at the hospital, checking her in.
"Jasper," Alice whispers as she clings to the love of her life.
"Darlin', you'll be just fine. Remember you have done this before," he teases.
She looks to him, then me, and smiles. She just started looking paler this week, her appetite waning but not her spirit or hope.
My twin already has part of me; one of my kidneys. Unfortunately it wasn't enough. The thought of being happy that someone would have to die for her to get another one was a heavy weight on my heart. But to keep her alive, it was necessary to feel such things.
The hole that would be left if she were to die would be more than I could endure.
After exhausting all searches, our rare blood type made finding a match more difficult. So she is on the waiting list, at the top, given two months to live from her doctors.
And now we don't have to wait anymore. I would be lying if I said I wasn't scared to find out who and why; the reason she is given a second chance.
"Mrs. Whitlock," a gentle voice says, knocking and entering the room.
Alice is all plugged up and in her gown on her bed, waiting as impatiently as she possibly can.
Jasper and I sit on either side of her bed, holding her hands, trying to distract her with funny stories and sweet memories.
The strawberry blonde nurse goes over her vitals, preparing all information for her journey to come.
Alice, ever curious, asks all the questions lingering in my mind.
The nurse whispers a few answers. The donor is a man, who was in a car accident, found with a woman, who died at the scene; not his wife she adds, and he is a registered organ donor. Once the match was made in the computers, the ball started to roll and Alice was called immediately.
"Can I meet his family?"
"I'll have to check to see if they want to meet the recipient but from what I gather, the family has just been notified."
Alice makes her way to surgery and Jasper and I find a comfy spot in the waiting room.
As I sit and watch the other people in the room, waiting on loved ones, and the fate of what is happening in another room of this hospital, what I don't expect to see is a pair of deep brown eyes, red rimmed and puffy.
I'm sitting, waiting, and this feels like forever. Officer Clearwater told me to wait here, that he would get the doctor and be right back.
He wouldn't tell me much on the ride over just that James was in a car accident. I figure that he must be dead, that I need to identify the body; the police wouldn't show up if he were alive.
The tears start to fall, and my head is swimming with thoughts and feelings splitting me in two. On the one hand, I feel that I should be scared and mournful if he is dead; the feelings of a loving wife. But then there is this spark in me, hope that I could be free of this marriage, and pleased with this turn of events.
Should I be happy if he's dead? How long should I grieve before jumping for joy that I am no longer caught in a loveless marriage?
Should I be sad that my marriage is over?
So many questions float through my head. My head feels so heavy, I let it hang in my hands, allowing any and all emotions run amuck in my body. Soft voices float around the room.
A hand touches my shoulder.
I look up and see a man in a white coat, his name embroidered on the right side.
"I'm Dr. Williams."
My eyes, blurry from moisture, stare at him, willing him to just speak and get this over with.
He sighs and sits down next to me. It isn't until then that I notice Office Clearwater behind him, shielding our conversation from the others in the waiting room.
He leans closer and speaks softly, "Did you know that James was a registered organ donor?"
I nod my head. Both James and I were organ donors.
"He's a perfect match for a kidney transplant. His rare blood type gives someone on the list a second chance. They are going into surgery right now. We are working on matching his other organs with other suitable donors."
As if my guilt isn't growing by the minute that I do not have the right emotional state due to this situation, I feel relieved somehow knowing that he will help others.
"I don't exactly understand. He's still alive?"
Guilt immediately floods my body as I ask this selfish question. Should I be grateful that because of his death I would have my freedom? I really don't know the answer to that question. Although I do know that I probably should be saddened from the loss of life. But should I mourn the man that I didn't really love?
"He is brain dead, we are only keeping his body alive for his organs."
"Did you know his passenger?" Office Clearwater interjects.
My eyes snap to him, "Passenger?"
"A woman by the name of Victoria Johnson."
"Victoria is his secretary. But I don't understand…." My voice trails off.
Victoria was in the car with James. Alone. Why would Victoria be in the car with James?
"Is she alive?"
"No, she was dead at the scene of the accident, broken neck."
The late nights at the office.
The lack of touching me…no affection towards me.
I should have seen this, I should have noticed. But I never thought he would really cheat on me. I begin to wonder how long this had been going on. How long I have cheated myself out of having the life I wanted, to be with a man I wanted to be with, a man that I loved.
Was our marriage a joke to him? Did he not take the vows as seriously as I did?
All I can think of right now is yes to those questions, that being married didn't stop him from having fun, from cheating on me.
A wave of anger courses through me, as if someone as lit a fire under my ass, I'm off the chair and in Officer Clearwater's face demanding details to everything regarding the accident.
The rage builds as my voice rises. My fists find purchase on Officer Clearwater's chest.
Anger is pouring out of me, confusion and regret and disappointment. So many emotions that I feel like I will split into a million pieces.
But before I can, my parents arrive.
"Isabella," my father coos, taking me into his strong embrace. I melt, seeking the comfort that my father offers.
A bubble surrounds me, a shield protecting myself with muffled voices outside. I float within the bubble myself, closing my eyes, trying to regain the numbness that I had only a few hours ago.
Eventually, I'm left sitting with my mother's arms around me, my father talking to Officer Clearwater. The bubble protects me from hearing his raised voice.
I watch as new people enter the waiting room; two men, one with copper hair and a smile that warms me.
I watch him as he sits, the two speaking quietly to each other, my mother's attempts at comforting words buzzing at my ear, then the haze and numbness finds its way around me again. She thinks that I am saddened at the loss of James. Little do they know.
A soft smile appears on his face, his eyes, gentle and caring, and luscious green that rivals the richest emerald.
I had thought about it, envisioned it, but I never thought I would ever see her like this.
She is in the arms of an older version of herself; I assume it must be her mother. An older man, dark hair and a mustache, is close, speaking loudly with a uniformed officer. His anger, his questions, all directed to this young guy, who looks to be holding strong, using everything he has to stand up to this wave of rage that is washing towards him.
I hear a few questions, peaking my interest even more, watching as the officer looks uncomfortable when answering. Who was in the car with him? What the hell happened?
Yes, all good questions.
But then, I don't hear anything. My vision locked with hers. Every cell in my body is demanding that I stand up, march over there and take her into my arms. Hold her, comfort her; tell her anything that she wants to hear.
But I can't, so I sit and watch. She watches me as the man stops shouting and slumps into the chair on the other side of her. The man and woman are talking to her, whisper and gentle touches.
All the while, she stares at me.
"Don't you get it?" she jolts up out of the chair, shaking the arms of those comforting her. Her volume is loud and everyone in the waiting room is watching this soap opera play out live.
"All this time, I played the role of the good faithful wife! And look where it got me! How the hell do you think I feel, finding out this way? He cheated on me!"
Silence fills the room, everyone hanging on her words.
"And you know what mom and dad? I tried to do the right thing here. You wanted me to marry him, to be happy with him. But I wasn't, I never was, and I didn't know how to be, but the thought of letting you two down, disappointing you," she pauses shaking her head. "I thought he was everything that you could want for me, someone to make me happy. I should have said something before now; I should have never let this go on as long as it did. Growing up, your marriage was something to strive for, so the guilt of failing, it was more than enough to keep my mouth shut for the past seven years."
Her parents look at her shock coloring their faces. But as her mother opens her mouth to speak, she takes off, running down the hall.
I move to stand, but a nurse comes to Jasper and hands him some papers. My attention returns focus on my twin.
"What does it say?"
Jasper is reading before he hands me the papers.
The time creeps by, my nerves on edge, waiting as Alice is on the operating table. My fingers move on their own, fidgeting and moving from working against each other to finding there way through the tracks in my hair.
Twenty minutes later, I can't take the waiting anymore. I know it will be a while till we find out something about Alice, so my thoughts turn to her. I want to find her. I finally leave my chair, using excuse to Jasper to go get us something to drink.
I don't know what I'll do when she is in my sight, but I will not let the chance go by to speak to her.
Walking around the halls, everything seems quiet, the background noise of beeps and pumps working, papers shuffling and low voices in conversations.
Somehow in my wandering in search of brown eyes, I find myself standing in front of a set of double doors, the courtyard.
Stepping through the doors, the warm air surrounds me, warming my face. I can see why the hospital decided to build this courtyard, plenty of green filling my sight, trees, bushes, and dashes of color everywhere.
I walk around, silently enjoying the peace of this small paradise in a building that can bring such pain.
As I follow the brick path, I see her, sitting on a bench, knees pulled but to her chest, her body curled up into herself, head resting on her knees, rocking and crying softly.
"Hi," I quietly say, to announce my presence.
She looks up to me, and then folds her head back to rest on her knees.
I move to sit on the adjoining bench next to her, slow movements as though she were a doe in the forest.
She watches my movements, her eyes showing pain and confusion. Questions are many for her, but I must start slow. "Are you all right?"
She snorts, "I don't really have anything to feel 'all right' about."
"Not really." I shrug.
Her head pops up, tears starting to stream from her eyes. "Why are you here?" she asks. "Why now?" she whispers.
I can only wonder if she meant for me to hear that second question. "My twin, she needs another kidney, and with her rare blood type, we have been waiting for a while. She is in surgery right now, a donor became available tonight."
"Let me guess, she is OB negative?"
"Yeah, how did you know?"
"My husband is the donor."
"I'm so sorry."
We sit in silence, her tears slow but not stopping. I wish I knew more of what to say, to comfort her. I wanted to see her with red-rimmed eyes, rings gone from her finger, but not in pain like this.
"I've seen you before, at the coffee shop."
"I know. I've seen you too."
"Sorry for your loss."
She snorts at this comment, a complete contradiction to the tears staining her face.
More silence. I notice the background noise of the air flowing around us. The regular noise of the hospital drowned out.
"Are you going to be all right? Is there anything I can get for you?"
A look of regret passes through her eyes. "I don't know."
She looks lost. Wanting nothing more than to comfort her, I reach out and place a hand on the arm that she has wrapped around her body. She looks down, studying my hand.
"Don't do that," she mumbles.
Not moving my hand, I whisper a response, "Why?"
"This is wrong, to be thinking of something, of someone, that shouldn't be while all this is going on around me. " She takes a deep breath and a shiver passes through her body as she stares at my hand on her arm. "You shouldn't touch me."
Before I can continue questioning her on her cryptic answer, she is up and briskly walking away, turning to look over her shoulder to quickly say, "Best of luck to your sister." Before finding the only exit to this courtyard.
Guilt. That is all I feel. Even as my parents whisper to me, moments after finding out that James cheated on me, telling me that I did nothing wrong, that even with James' fault of infidelity, that they know that he still loved me, that we all make mistakes.
Guilt for yelling at them, for running away from them, for not telling them the truth
Then the worst guilt of all is the guilt of wanting nothing more than to talk to him,versus talking to James in any way, shape or form. I wanted to talk to Edward more than I ever wanted to speak to James. But to learn everything about him. I want him to hold me, give me the comfort that I deserve in all this. I want him to love me, for me to love him, for us to share the passion that I have built up in my head.
Wanting Edward; that is the biggest guilt of all.
I shouldn't be thinking these things. I should be mourning James, I should be doing anything but lusting after some guy I have bumped into a coffee shop.
But is it more than just lust?
My thoughts consume me as the haze of two days pass, and I find myself sitting in the funeral home office, planning, plans of a casket, flowers, arrangements that I never thought about before.
Then, as it is repeated to me, of all the things about this situation, I am reminded of the one positive that I can feel good about in all of this.
His kidney saved the life of someone else, someone who needed it. I am thankful and say a silent prayer that she, his twin is recovering and doing better with her new organ.
The days blur together, my parents return in their support, not speaking of my outburst, my disrespect of them at the hospital. There is comfort from people that I do not want coming from all directions.
The day of the funeral, I dress in all black, move about, smile softly at those who only wish to show their consolation at my loss.
As the crowd thickens, one face appears.
One of dearest and oldest friends from college….Rosalie.
Rosalie is eight years older than me, and she is the administrator at the onsite gym at the college I attended. I met her and we instantly became friends. She has always been there for me, giving support and advice.
"B," she coos, pulling my body into a hug that I want, that I need.
My emotions rip from my body, sobs pouring out and I collapse against her, soaking her silk blouse.
"Shhh, everything is going to be alright."
"Ro," I manage to choke out after a few minutes. "I'm so glad you came."
"Oh, B, how could I not come."
The funeral proceeds and I cling to Rosalie, her hand never leaving mine, the comfort grounding me.
Hours after it is done, Rosalie drives me back to my house, offering to help me in any way. We are sitting on the couch, drinking a glass of wine, Rosalie allowing me to gather my thoughts before talking.
"Ro, I feel so guilty."
"Guilty about what?" She pulls me to her, my head resting on her shoulder.
I sigh before I begin, relaxing as much as I can. I tell her everything, the loveless marriage, trying to please my parents, the lost hope, the want of another man, the guilt for letting this go on for so long- everything.
She sighs heavily with each admission, but remains quiet throughout.
"You forgot someone."
I jerk up from my comfortable spot to stare at her. "What?"
"You," she replies.
"Yeah," she starts, turn to face me on the couch. "You should feel guilty for you, and no one else. B, if there is one thing that I've learned about you, is that you are selfless and vulnerable; you have the biggest heart and you wear it on your sleeve. You should feel guilty for cheating yourself from the life that you could have, the love that you deserve."
Truly shocked at her words, I sit there with my mouth open trying to absorb what she has said.
Have I ignored my wants?
Rosalie leaves shortly after, and I am left to my thoughts. I continue to sit on the couch, the wine in my glass warm from being untouched. It is late, and I would normally go to bed by myself at this time, the cold sheets unwelcoming.
But my mind is turning, thinking and working through what is going on. The house is silent as usual; my breaths are the only noise. I see a picture of James and myself on the mantel, both smiling, taken long ago, before I knew any better.
Silence continues, but then loud noises, only the sound of the wind outside as a backdrop as the rage that I have boiling inside me erupts and I shatter the picture against the hard and cold wooden floor.
She told me I shouldn't, but I can't ignore her. She calls to me, without knowing. I snuck the name off the donor sheet that day at the hospital, found the address and now wait to stalk. It has been three days and I can't wait anymore. In my car, I drive to her house, and I have been sitting outside for twenty minutes, just down the block, watching and waiting; trying to figure out what to do next.
It is late and I know that I should not be doing this, I should be at home, preparing to go to bed and go on with my life.
But I just can't.
Resolving to end this…obsession with her, I start my car and roll slowly towards her house.
I hear loud noises, glass breaking and a scream. Before I know it, my car is parked, turned off and I am rushing to the door, kicking at it. It looks easier on T.V. when they kick a door down.
Three kicks and the door slings open. I take a few steps in, the sound of glass breaking continuing.
I move quickly and find her. She is sitting on the floor, glass littering the floor of what I assume is a living room. As I look around her I see pictures, frames, accompanying the broken glass; memories of what her life must have been scattered all over the floor.
"Are you alright?"
"What the hell do you care?" she yells.
"Because I can." My mouth wants to say more, to explain that I want to touch her, hold her in my arms and memorize how perfect she would fit there; to learn everything about her. But I can't.
"I told you. Don't."
"I don't listen very well." I move towards her, not caring what her wishes are. I reach my hand out.
She looks at my hand for a minute before reaching out and taking it. After pulling her up, she is too close. I want her this close.
But as I move to step away, she closes the space between us, and holds my head in her hands. Her eyes are swimming with thoughts and emotions. I see something flash that I need, her want.
Our lips suddenly meet.
The kiss isn't the soft and gentle that I have day dreams about, but her lips are plump and her taste is intoxicating. My arms enfold her, pulling her flush to my body, leaving no room between the two of us.
She seems needy with her kiss, sucking in my bottom lip and thrusting her tongue in search of mine. Having this want of her, more of her, I kiss her back with as much passion.
Time falls as we continue to kiss, our bodies moving to the couch, my own laying her down with her underneath me.
She is soft.
Her lips wet, and my mind wonders what else might be.
My hands hold her, roam along her body, feeling her underneath me.
I want more, so my hands continue to move, finding a path to her hips.
When I grasp her hips, she stiffens.
"Stop," she says quietly, breaking our kiss and pushing me off of her. "I shouldn't be doing this, I…" her words trail off.
I move off of her and sit on my heels on the end of the couch, watching her. "Bella," my voice pleads. It isn't that I want to fuck her right here, it is only that I want her to talk to me.
She moves from her prone position to standing, wrapping her arms around herself, her stance and posture very protective. "Edward, I think you should leave. I'm sorry about…this," she whispers.
It has been a month, since James died, since Edward came to the house, since I felt his body on mine, his lips. Guilt flows through me, and I just can't seem to pull myself out of the water.
"B, you have to eat something." Rosalie has temporarily moved in with me, giving me solace.
"I'm not hungry," I say, for the thousandth time.
She huffs and puts down her fork.
"I know that you are hurting, but you can't fool me, B. This isn't because of James dying, or even that he cheated on you. Tell me the truth."
"There is this coffee shop, and I've seen this man there, Edward."
"Edward." She prompts.
"Ro, he's so…"
"You're attracted to him."
I roll my eyes; it is so much more than attraction with him. "If you saw him you would be too."
"Don't tell Emmett that."
"Anyway, he was there, the night at the hospital. Remember that they were able to use one of James' kidneys?"
"Yeah, because he is a rare blood type."
"Well, Edward's twin was the recipient. He was there that night for her surgery, the transplant."
"Did he speak to you?"
I smile when I think back to what words we did share; Edward was very kind, only offering sympathy and gentleness.
"Yeah, we actually never talked until that night. I didn't even know his name. We would see each other in the coffee shop, smile and go about our days. He found me in the courtyard, spoke to me, offered me his condolences."
"Then he touched me, just a gesture of comfort."
"And…" she presses.
"I can't explain it, but his touch just did something, set me into this spiral of guilt. At the time all I wanted to do was crawl into his lap, but then the thought of doing that, with everything that was going on, it was so wrong."
"It's not wrong to have wants."
"But being so close, almost acting on them?"
"B, don't feel guilty about this."
"Wait, I haven't told you everything."
I nod and continue. "The night of the funeral, he showed up here after you left. I started thinking about everything you told me, and something snapped. Before I knew it, I was breaking every picture of James that I could put my hands on. Edward heard the noise and broke the door down."
Rosalie is grinning at me, not knowing the full story of what happened at the time to my front door, only that she came back the next day and I was having a new one installed.
"He helped me up off the floor, and I kinda attacked him."
"What do you mean kinda?"
"I kissed him. A lot."
"Then I stopped us, and told him to leave."
She looks at me, scanning my face, trying to find understanding in what I have just told her.
"There is a quote I want to share with you:' The most important thing in life is to learn how to give out love, and to let it come in.' B, I've told you before, you give love but you don't know how to let someone love you."
Five months of dreaming of her lips, her touch, everything about her. I crave to learn everything about her; from her favorite books to why she orders that vanilla latte every single time.
I had her in my arms, and then she was gone.
And instead of fighting for her, going back, showing her that I would be there until she was ready, I left.
And I am a complete idiot.
I stopped going to the coffee shop, scared I would run into her. I only worked, spent time with Alice and stayed home.
Life was passing me by.
"Eddie," Alice says in her sugary voice, drawing my attention back to her. "Can you go get me some of that special decaf coffee from that shop you always go to?"
I roll my eyes at her as she gives me this sweet look, batting her eyes and tilting her head. She is starting to gain some color back in her skin, and she looks well. I can tell that she has been eating more. I would do anything for my sister.
Yeah, I'm a sucker.
Standing in the almost empty coffee shop in the middle of the afternoon, I find myself in line for Alice's coffee. A hand touches my shoulder and turn to see Bella.
"Hi," she says with a soft smile.
She looks better than the last time I saw her. Her eyes aren't red rimmed, and she looks…calm, at peace.
Hesitantly, she opens her mouth once or twice before speaking, nervously. "Nice weather today?"
I cast a glance at the windows and the overcast sky. "Looks like rain," I comment wryly and smile awkwardly.
She sucks in a sharp breath. "Yeah…" she acquiescence and frowns. "Do you have a minute to talk?"
I nod and grab Alice's order, taking a seat with Bella in the quiet corner of the shop.
She looks more relaxed than I remember her, my mind not doing justice for her beauty. Her look is casual, neutral colors; very different from her normal business attire, black and navy.
"How are you?" I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.
She nods, "I'm good, much better than the last time you saw me."
"Yeah," I stammer. "I'm sorry about your door, about that night. I should have never come over."
I want to say more, sorry for anything that made you uncomfortable, for wanting more with you, for causing you to push me away. But those words aren't right.
"No, it's okay," she says, pausing and taking a deep breath. "I want to explain. That was the same day as the funeral and you were just trying to make sure that I was okay. I can only imagine what it looked like. Finding me on the floor with all that glass, then I just attack you like you are the last man on the planet."
"It was... a night I'll never forget," I admit.
She sighs and nods. "I'm sorry."
I hold my hand up and open my mouth to stop her, but she continues.
"Let me say this, please. I'm sorry for everything. I should have never kissed you, I should have talked to you before that night at the hospital, and I should have been in a different place for any of those things to happen. But I wasn't, I didn't."
"And are you in a better place now?" My hope perks, wanting to jump up and be noticed but I know better. She has been through a lot and I need to, more importantly, I want to give her time.
She continues to talk, to explain, and to tell me the stories of what happened after that night. She didn't hit rock bottom that night, it was a few days later. When I press her further on what her rock bottom was, she brushes off the subject with 'let's not go there.' Her family and her friends helped her get some help, recovery from all of this.
She started therapy. She sold the house. She got a new job. All these things in order to give her a fresh start, to give her a new life.
Then, when she said she felt that she was in a better place, a space that she was happy in, she wanted to find me. But didn't know where to start.
"I just remembered this coffee shop, so I've been camping out here as much as I can," she admits. "I used to come in the mornings, but after a week, I never saw you. So I started coming at all other hours of the day. You never showed, until now."
"I'm here now."
"I'm glad." Her smile is shy.
We sit there, leaning over the table, edging closer to each other without thinking about it.
"What are you going to do about it, now that you've found me?" I whisper.
She smiles, "Are you opposed to dinner?"
Dinner that night leads to lunch the next day, and dinner again. A few weeks pass and we have eaten just about every meal together that was possible. She meets Alice and Jasper, and I meet Rosalie and her parents.
And even though there is this air of want that swirls around the two of us, somehow, this time, it is in the background, and not in front of us, creating a haze, which we both are looking through.
Things are simple; we kiss, small gentle touches, but never anything serious.
I love the simple fact of being able to hold her hand.
Then one Saturday afternoon, she invites me to her house for lunch. Nothing special, just lunch on a weekend.
With the warm weather, I dress casually in a t-shirt and some cargo shorts.
I announce myself through Bella's screen door, gaining a shout from her somewhere in the house, to come on in.
Working my way to the kitchen, I smell cookies, chocolate chip.
"Hmm, something smells …." my voice trails off as I take in the sight before me.
Bella is standing at the sink, drying her hands and arms off on a towel, wearing a short pale yellow sundress that is drenched on the front, soaking wet. I look to the counter and see a pitcher turned over, water running off the edges onto the floor.
The dress is something I have never seen on her before, simple as it clings to her body. Appearing almost sheer where it is wet, showing her lace bra and panties underneath.
She is beautiful.
Reaching out, I brush her side, watch her as I carefully round the curve of her breast with the pads of my fingers. Staring, I detect the peaked tip through the fabric.
She looks down and watches as my fingers travel over her skin, her breath trembling. I gently run my thumb over the erect areola. She closes her eyes, sucking back a sigh. "Needy," I ask
My head dips, my lips grazing hers, teasing before my tongue sneaks out.
She is wanton in her moans, but so responsive as I explore her. My touches are gentle, but purposeful. Her skin is soft and heated.
My cock is hard and leaking before her hands finds purchase where I want her. Her lace panties unceremoniously join my shirt on the floor, while her dress bunches at her hips. She arches to greet me, guiding me impatiently while she smiles expectantly at me. Her eyes flutter closed when I sink into her. The peachy skin on her neck flushed crimson as we start to move together. She is oh so soft, to welcoming me. We join in the most pleasurable way.
Does life get any better than this?
We start slow but time is a blur as he touches me.
His lips mark my skin, mapping out my body for his own travels. And I love it.
As I take him into my body, filling me, completely, I acknowledge that this is a way of desire I didn't know was possible.
After all the moans and pants and sweating and releasing, I find myself on a cushion of Edward, lying on top of him, still on my kitchen floor.
My knees ache.
And they should, I giggle internally.
I am warm, the sun from the skylight, that was one of the key selling points in buying this townhouse, spotlighting the two of us as we relax.
I smile, happy with myself, with where I am. My grin widens; there are no clouds.