A/N_I am so sorry for the delay. My only excuse is that I just started my last year of school (year 12) and I'm already buried in essays and proposals. The one thing I can promise you is that I am not abandoning this story. I believe I stated in my Profile that for me to complete a story it could take years. That statement clearly stands. I also promise to update when I can. Sorry for the shortness of this chapter. It's all I could get out during my 30 minutes free in study period.
Previously in Chapter seven
I considered myself lucky now, that she'd told me to get out and never come back. I had Charlie, and that's all I'd really needed. And now I have Jackson and Charlie. And the irrational whimsical side of me hoped that Jackson and I would one day have Edward.
Edward spoke then, his voice barely audible, "I don't really how I feel about all of this; whether I'm angry, frustrated, annoyed, excited, sad . . . maybe I'm feeling all of them. But I know for a fact that none of those feelings come even close to hatred. And honestly, if I don't hate you, then you shouldn't hate you."
I chuckled without humour in response to his whispered speech; remembering.
My feet sank into the beige carpet; I wiggled my toes for a second, and then glanced behind me to the man lying on his stomach, snoring. The sheet had gathered around his waist, showing of the muscular surface of his back. I winced, remembering last night with little detail. I remembered the important parts though.
I fucked up, big time.
Don't you mean you were fucked, big time?
I wanted to huff angrily at my subconscious, but then remembered the need for quiet; it would not do to wake the sleeping man.
I huffed internally.
Glancing around the room quickly, I spotted my purple silk wrap dress; the one that was two sizes too small, and my black pumps. They were both lying on the floor, evidence of the rush we had clearly been in last night.
I tiptoed over to the pumps and the dress, and picked the dress up; I frowned.
Grimacing, I ran my fingers along the frayed edges of the dresses side seam, I sighed; damn.
Shrugging to myself, I pulled the dress on over my black lace bra and panties and held the seams together with one hand. Then I walked over to the chair by the dark wooden desk in the corner. On the desk sat two glasses of wine and an empty wine bottle.
Jesus Christ, how much did you drink?
"About the same as you," I muttered under my breath, rolling my eyes at myself.
Grabbing my coat from the chair, I glanced back at the gorgeous man, sleeping peacefully on the king sized bed.
Why are you running? You like him, and he seems nice.
I'm not running, besides, what do you say I do? Stay and wait for him to wake up, so that we can live happily ever after?
Shaking my head, I walked over the door, my coat wrapped tightly around me, my black pumps back on my feet.
Closing the door, I remember the last thing he said to me, before he fell asleep.
And I had, just for a little while.
"Bella, are you alright?"
I started and then shook my head, "Sorry, I was just . . . remembering."
He raised an eyebrow in question, "Remembering what? "
I shrugged, trying to play it cool, "The morning after."
He stared blankly for a second and then nodded, "Oh."
"Yeah; I um, look . . . I'm sorry for leaving like I did. You asked me to stay and I didn't and I just . . . well you know; I panicked . . . I can't help but think of 'what if', you? Things might have been different if I had stayed."
His eyes flashed for a second, as if wondering the same thing I was, before they softened.
"You'll only run yourself in circles, thinking about the 'what if's'."