This is an outtake of the future (hence the title). The first outtake is from the PAST, around the end of their high school years.
Twilight's not mine; this plot is.
I'm walking through Times Square when my phone buzzes with a text; from Liam.
Hey, you got a call from Rosalie a lil bit ago. She said to call her back. Love you, babe. –L
I walk to the nearest Starbucks and order a frappe, then sit down and call Rose.
"Rosalie Hale speaking," she answers.
"Hey Rose, it's me, Bella," I say, and take a sip.
I hear her shuffling around.
"Oh, Bella, hi! Sorry, you caught me off guard; I wasn't expecting you until later."
I smirk at catching her off guard.
"So," I say. "Liam said you called."
"Yes, I did; you're needed back in Seattle to talk about your new book," she tells me.
I fidget with my cup.
It's been almost two years since I've been back to Seattle. Liz flies out here to see me on occasion; Rosalie and I managed to work something out so that I wouldn't have to travel as much. Last month, I told her I was thinking about writing a new book.
"Um, I'm not sure what I wanna write about yet," I say.
"You mean it isn't started yet?"
"Well," I say carefully. "I'm having a bit of difficulty," I admit.
"Well, how about you board the next flight out here, and we'll discuss it?"
Seattle, WA – 7 days later
I flew into the city yesterday; I'm currently sitting in Rosalie's office.
"So," she says to me. "Any plans for today?"
We just finished talking about what could happen with this latest none-yet-a-book; she gave me some good ideas, and I wrote them down.
"I'm not sure; I'll be here for another week, though," I tell her.
"Perhaps you should pay a visit to some old friends or something; I'm sure they miss you," she hints.
Rosalie Hale has never been the overly sentimental type, but she does know how and when to call people out on things.
I bite my lip.
"I doubt that would be a good idea, Rose," I say softly.
She clasps her fingers together.
"Au contraire, I do happen to know when someone is running from something, and you my dear have been running for two years—two years too long!" She points a ballpoint pen at me.
I roll my eyes and mutter immaturely, "Like you'd know anything about that."
She grants her signature Rosalie Hale arched brow.
"Au contraire," she says again. "We all try running from something; you just can't run forever, it's Il n'est pas possible."
I leave Rosalie's with her words ringing through my head.
Il n'est pas possible.
It means that it's impossible to run forever.
I walk down the busy street and hail a cab, and go back to my hotel.
The next day – WA State
I'm at my house, my dad's old one.
I decided to come back to grab a couple of things, but now I'm thinking that it was a mistake. Liam is with me; he came with on this trip, having been able to some time off. He's outside the house doing something when I hear my name being called; I grab a water bottle and take the short walk to the front yard, and stop immediately when I see who is standing near the driveway.
"Fuck," I whisper, clutching the neck of the bottle.
Standing a few feet away is none other than Edward himself; hands in his pockets, shoulders squared, staring at Liam.
"Who's this?" Liam asks from behind me.
"E-Edward," I answer.
Edward frowns and Liam says, "Oh, the friend from out here!"
Edward's frown transforms into a smirk, recognition lighting up his face.
"I'm Liam," Liam says.
Edward nods but doesn't say anything. I turn around and ask Liam to finish boxing something up for me inside—you know, before this turns into a pissing contest or something.
Once he's safely out of earshot, I turn back to Edward.
"What're you doing here?" I ask, carefully.
"I saw the driveway occupied, and wondered what was up," he answers.
I only sort of buy his answer, but don't press it.
"So, is that him?" he asks, and I know what he's referring to.
I glare at him but nod.
"Yes," I say.
"Huh," he says. "I noticed he didn't seem to know me, though."
My hands clench at my sides, and I hate that he can still get a reaction out of me, and he knows that he can, too.
"He doesn't deserve to have my past shit all over us, for your uninvited information," I tell him lowly.
"Do you love him?" he asks.
"What the fuck?" I say.
"It's a simple question."
But not a simple one to answer.
"Yeah, but it's also not one I have to give an answer to—especially to you," I say, and snort.
"I was jus' curious, 'cause you don't look at him the same way as you did me," he says cockily.
I cross my arms—water bottle included—over my chest.
"Stay out of my relationship," I tell him quietly. "Don't you dare interfere; Liam and I are happy, and I'll be damned before I let you fuck that up."
The ringing of my cell phone wakes me up a few days later; Liam went back to New York yesterday because of work, and I return tomorrow. I light up my phone, wincing when the harsh light hurts my eyes. I don't feel good, and I have a low grade fever; it's also five in the morning.
It's a text, from Edward.
Can U meet me someplace, pls? –E
I groan, feeling my stomach twisting-pulling.
Edward, it's 5 fucking AM, wtf is open at this hour? –Bella
I don't care about being nice or anything right now; I'm sick and he's pulling his usual shit.
That 24hr Starbucks near our place…pls, I need 2 tell U something. –E
I narrow my eyes at his choice of words; he found out long ago that I sold 'our house'. Everything in me says not to go, but I do anyway.
I walk into Starbucks half an hour later, dressed in a fitting white t-shirt, black sweatpants and black flip-flops. I pull my hair up as I search for Edward, and my eyes immediately find him. I tentatively take the seat across from him, pushing my sunglasses to the top of my head. He looks me over.
"You look. . ." He pauses, trying to find the words.
I roll my eyes.
"Like crap," I finish for him. "I've been running a low grade fever since last night, as well as sneezing."
He shakes his head.
"Um, no; I was gonna say ya look good—sorry you're sick though," he says quietly.
An awkward silence follows, but is broken by Edward standing up.
"Uh, I'm gonna go order something; what'd you want?"
He sounds so unsure of himself that I almost feel bad for him.
"Just ice water," I answer.
I should probably get a coffee, but caffeine is the last thing I need—especially since I still have Nyquil in me. He nods and goes to the counter to order, and I remove my sunglasses to run my fingers through my hair; I cut it last week, and had red and blonde highlights put in—nothing too noticeable, but if you catch it in the right light, you can see them. I take out my phone to check the time and see that there's a missed text; Liam.
Hey, it's going on seven and I doubt you're up yet, but I just wanted to say good morning. :) I love you. –L
His words make me feel horrible instead of good like they're meant for. He's been so patient for almost two years, knowing that I wasn't ready to just jump right into anything, and here I am sitting here waiting for the reason why I probably won't ever be able to fully give myself to Liam to bring me fucking ice water at 5:45 in the morning.
I'm rereading his text when Edward sits back down, setting my water in front of me. I close out the text and power off my phone, putting it on the table and then take a drink, reveling in the coldness.
"Is something . . . wrong?" he asks, eyeing me.
Other than me agreeing to meet you at the ass crack of dawn?
I shake my head.
"Just a text," I answer after swallowing.
"From—what's his name, Lee?" he asks.
I roll my eyes.
"Liam," I correct him.
He nods, and I spend excessively much time and effort trying to find any ounce of maliciousness in his question, his eyes, but I don't find any.
"So," I say, getting irritated at his silence. "You ask me to get up, come over to the only 24-hour coffee joint for miles around, and I agree even though I have a flight to catch tomorrow, just to sit here in silence?" I lean back and cross my arms.
He sighs and drinks some of his coffee.
"Sorry," he mutters.
I roll my eyes.
"I don't want you to apologize; I'm way past that. What I want is to know why I dragged my sick butt out of bed at five in the morning when I didn't have to."
His browns widen but he doesn't say anything; I huff.
"If you're just gonna sit there, I'm leavin'," I announce, trying to push him into talking.
He immediately shakes his head.
"I—I just don't know where to begin," he admits.
"Just . . . start." I shrug.
He runs a hand through his hair.
"I . . . I had a paternity test done on the kid before," he says softly.
My chest tightens but I ignore it as best I can.
"And?" I say. "Is it yours?"
It takes a moment, but he eventually nods, and it's all I need.
"Wow—yeah, I so shouldn't be here," I mutter, about to stand up.
Sensing that I'm about to bolt, he touches my hand, and when he does, air leaves my lungs; it's almost too much just being near him, and now he touches me.
"Stay, please," he begs quietly, never leaving my face.
I bite my lip and slowly lean forward, taking my hand back from his.
"Why . . . Why didn't you just write me?" I ask, frowning a little.
He shrugs and leans back in his chair.
"I didn't know your new address, and I doubted that Charlotte would've given you anything if she knew or even suspected that it might be from me," he says.
I roll my eyes at this because it's absurd; Charlotte's not the enemy, quite the au contraire as Rosalie would say.
"Char's not the enemy," I tell him, and take a sip.
He nods. "I know that, but I also figured she hated me."
I don't say anything against that because he's not exactly wrong; while Charlotte is like me (she doesn't waste her time hating anything), she also wouldn't welcome Edward back with open arms, per se.
"She hates me, doesn't she?" he guesses.
I set down the cup and sigh, rubbing my temples; I didn't come here to talk about Charlotte.
"It doesn't really matter; now riddle me this: Why am I here?" I say, tired.
"'Cause I wanted to talk," he says, like it's obvious.
"Why, though? I mean, I already knew that the kid is yours—why you lied about it, though, I don't know, but that's just you," I say.
He narrows his eyes.
"How the hell d'you know?"
I smirk at nothing.
"What's her name . . . Ashley, stopped by a signing I did out here; the kid couldn't have been more than seven months, but it looked just like you. Same eyes, nose, hair," I reveal.
"Shit," he says, and rubs his eyes.
I snort again.
"Did she—did she say anything?" he asks.
I shake my head.
"She didn't look as though she knew who I was aside from the obvious—why she was there—and if she did, no, she never said a word."
She was nice though, which I doubt she would have been if she had known exactly who I was.
"I didn't know she was gonna do that," he says, like it's an apology.
"Just about anybody can come to signings, so it's whatever. She didn't look like she recognized me outside of knowing my book, anyway," I say.
"Hey . . . you look different," he says suddenly.
I roll my eyes at his diversion tactic, but nod.
"I highlighted my hair and cut it last week; I also dropped a few pounds."
More than a few pounds, and it wasn't as if I wanted to, but I was nervous about coming out here and couldn't really eat anything, plus I had been nauseated for a few weeks prior.
And I'm not pregnant.
"It—you—looks good. Suits you," he comments.
I thank him with a nod and look outside at ever-lightening sky.
"Look, it's getting late," I say. "I still have to finish packing for tomorrow."
He nods and I stand up to slip my phone into my pocket.
"Was there . . . anything else you wanted me to know?" I ask hesitantly.
He nods, and I look at him expectantly, trying to keep my guard up as best as I can.
I swear, if he tries something—
"I miss you," he says softly, looking right at me.
Fucker, I think bitterly.
I roll my eyes, but he stops me from talking.
"Can we . . . try to be friends, at least?" he asks.
If my jaw could drop to the floor, I imagine it would be doing so right now. Friends; is he serious?
"Are you for real?" I ask in disbelief. "Friends?" I snorted the word.
He nods, but has the decency to look a little hesitant, worried, like he knows it's not a smart idea, and he knows why.
"Couldn't we at least . . . try?"
I laugh at his ways of trying to get me back; also at the fact that he has a kid, and still wants me around.
"I—you—you've got a kid, dude," I point out. "One that isn't mine, and one I should not be around by right; and I highly doubt Ashley would like the idea of me hanging around."
I wouldn't disagree with her if she didn't like me around; I don't think I'd want my guy's ex around our kid either, even if we were just friends.
"She's pretty laid back," he says.
"No one's that laid back," I point out. "Look, it's so not a good idea, alright? Not with our . . . history, and it's not fair to your kid, Ashley, nor is it fair to Liam and I."
He rolls his eyes at the mention of Liam, and that irritates me.
"Hey," I snap, getting his attention once again. "I don't care if you like Liam or not; he's a good guy, and more than I could've ever hoped for! Lay off."
"You don't love him, though—at least, not like you love me," he says, his voice seeping arrogance.
He's right, though; I'll never love anyone like I did—and still do—him, because he was my first love.
"You have got to let me go," I say softly. "It's not good for either of us to keep coming back around like this."
His face breaks out into a smirk, a knowing grin.
"What?" I ask warily.
"I'll always have a part of you with me," he says cryptically.
I narrow my eyes.
"What'd you do, get a tattoo of my name?" I laugh.
He shakes his head.
"Nope, better; remember when you sold our house?" he asks.
I nod, and a sinking feeling fills my stomach, and I hope, hope, hope I'm wrong, but he proves me right.
"Tell me you did not," I say quietly.
"I bought it." He shrugs.
"Please, tell me you're not currently living in it!"
He nods, and I want to punch him.
He moved his kid's mother, his kid and himself into what was once our home all because he can't fucking let go?
"You're unbelievable," I hiss. "I actually, for once, can't believe you'd do something like that; does Ashley know?"
He shakes his head.
I grab the cup of water, my bag, and swing it over my shoulder.
"Don't—don't contact me, anymore; don't even try to! Stay the fuck away from me, my life. It's obvious you're never gonna change! Just tell me one thing – did you at least change the furniture, any of it?" I ask.
When I'd sold the house, I didn't bother moving the furniture out; I took the linens and what I had wanted, but left everything else.
The look that he gives me says it all.
"Oh, God," I say, ready to throw-up.
"Just . . . you need serious help," I tell him before I head for the door. "And I sincerely hope you get it one day—for the sake of your kid if nothing else."
I get into my car and just sit there, my mind spinning. He kept the damn house, and moved them into it—who the fuck does that?
Somebody who refuses to move on.
Clearly; and I thought I had problems-trouble with letting go.
A tap sounds on my window and I jump; it's Edward, and he motions for me to step out. I shake my head, but I do roll it down.
"I didn't want you to go like that," he says as soon as it's rolled down.
"How else did you think I'd react?" I say.
"I don't know, honestly; what I do know is that I fucking miss you, though," he tells me.
That's twice he's told me that.
He's leaning into the car, looking at me like he wants me again.
I let my head fall back against the headrest.
"Why do you wanna take away my happiness?" I whisper. "Right when I think everything is going to be OK, you reappear."
He goes to say something, but my coughing fit stops him; the nauseated feeling returns.
"You OK?" he asks, concerned.
"Yeah, jus' been nauseas lately," I answer.
His eyes widen and they drop to my stomach; I roll my eyes.
"Stop," I tell him. "I'm not pregnant."
A breath that sounds like relief escapes him, making me angry.
"But, so what if I was?" I challenge. "Quit looking like you're gonna shit yourself; I'm nowhere near ready to be a mother."
"Move," I say, and then clear my throat. "Scoot before I run over your damn foot."
"Just come back inside with me, and talk—just talk, I promise," he says and smirks.
I look at him, disgusted.
I start the car, saying, "I'm not doing this; it's not fair to anyone, and I'm not gonna cheat on Liam—in short, I'm not you; I might have started to be you at some point, but at least I changed. I thought about it after our last encounter, and y'know what, you sure didn't wait long before you knocked someone else up. Perfect timing, really; I was on a different coast, you were doing God only knows what," I say.
He huffs and glances at the clock on the dash.
"Fuck, I gotta get going," he groans.
I raise an eyebrow.
"I have to take Sophie to daycare," he explains.
I snort, realizing the irony; he had a girl, which I hadn't noticed when Ashley came to the signing, just that the kid looked like Edward.
"Nice," I comment.
"What?" he says, looking confused.
I shake my head. "Oh, nothing."
I stop at Bartell Drugs and pick up a test on the way back to the house. Once there, I run up to the bathroom and pee on the stick, and nervously wait the ten minutes; it was why I had chosen water instead of anything else at Starbucks; water goes through me like nothing else.
I text Li while I wait.
Hey, sorry I ran to the drugstore for something. I hope you have a good day. –B
I glance at the time on my phone after sending it and it's time to check the results, but Liam responds before I can.
Are you okay? –L
I'm on break right now if you need me. :) –L
I go into the bathroom holding my phone, and taking a troubled breath, I look at the stick. A gasp of air escapes me; the results aren't exactly what I expected, but a part of me is sad for some reason at the result.
A/N: I contemplated having her sleep with Edward, go to the drugstore the next morning and purchase Plan B, and then take off for NY without ever talking to him again, but uh yeah, I DO have morals, and there are lines I just won't cross, loll.