FAGEY McFAGEINGTON THE 5th
Title: Another Place in Time
Written for: SunSetWing
Written By: Claire Bloom
Summary/Prompt used: They are stuck in a snow storm
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Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight.
Edward Cullen wondered when it had all become so fucked up. He should have been sitting on top of the Goddamn world right now. His life was a cliché; a bachelor, rich, good looking and hung like a horse, but he wasn't happy, and he wasn't sitting pretty.
Edward dangled the beer bottle over the edge of the boat. It was a small vessel, otherwise known as a Closed Bow Runabout, or 'Bowie' as Edward liked to call him. He hated that all things mechanical were referred to as female. Bowie was all male, just like his owner. He was perfect for him, the sports car of boats, and Edward Cullen liked his gadgets fast. Bowie was also small, which suited him fine, no room for too many passengers, baggage, or fucked up psycho bitches, determined to ruin his fucking life.
Gripping his bottle tighter, Edward felt like fucking screaming. Fuck his motherfucking life and all the other idiots hell bent on screwing with him. He felt so angry, and a strange, overwhelming desire to damage something. He'd wanted to crash his car, and had sped to the jetty, driving four times over the speed limit, not stopping at lights or caring if he careened into another vehicle. He didn't care if he lived or died, but he did care about hurting someone else. He eventually slowed, but only because he considered his karma was so fucked up right now, he would probably hit an innocent bystander and kill them, but walk away unscathed. Living with that on his conscience was the last thing he needed.
He'd parked clumsily at the jetty and ignored his father's larger and more comfortable yacht, jumping on board Bowie without care or concern as to where he would end up.
The middle of fucking nowhere sounded perfect right about now!
Holding the bottle between his thumb and index finger, Edward let it partially submerge in the ocean. The cool water was lapping at his fingers and keeping the beverage chilled. The night was warm but the breeze blowing in off the sea made him forget how balmy it had felt over on dry land.
The gentle lapping and rocking motion of the boat helped Edward relax. Laying back, he tried to push aside the many events which had led up to this moment, and trying to let his anger, despair and death wish go. He simply gazed up at the inky black of night, and the little dots of light punctuating the darkness. His eyes scanned the milky clouds spread across the black canvas. Maybe he could just float out here forever, never going back and never being found, just him and the vast blue that gently coaxed his boat further away from land.
Putting the bottle down, Edward reached for his phone and sighed when he realised no one had called him or sent him a text. No terms of endearment waited for his response; he really was alone. And despite the fact that he'd run away and had needed distance, the truth that she hadn't bothered to chase after him hurt all over again. It always fucking hurt; she was the bane of his life, yet he longed to see her when they were apart, ached to touch her when he saw her.
It hurt that she never returned his affection and although she played with his heart, he knew, deep down, that all he was to her was a fucking ego boost. He made her feel good. His adoration made her feel so fucking special. She was just as rich as Edward and just as good looking but she lacked self esteem and craved attention to validate her fucking selfish existence. He knew she was bad for him and his heart, but he had fallen for her, hard. Yet whenever he attempted moved on with his life, and tried to forget her, which was near impossible anyway, it was like she knew he was trying to move on and that's when she would rein him back in, with false promises and lies.
He knew what she was like; he knew he meant nothing to her, not like she meant to him, yet he fell for it every single time. He was a fool for her. He told himself over and over again to forget about her but she was like a drug to him, his own personal hell. It was like he was addicted to the pain she caused. The French called it 'la douleur exquise' – the exquisite pain, and it really was. But he just couldn't let her go. It killed him to see her with her new beau, but Edward surmised that he would rather live till the end of his days, unhappy and hurt every time he saw her with him, rather than never see her again, at all.
Edward continued to lay back and watch the stars, letting his heartache fade till there was nothing but him, the ocean and the dark, starry night.
No sound, other than the sea, reached him. It was his haven.
He concentrated on the noise of the water against the boat. The more he listened, the slapping sound changed from random to melodic.
Eventually a sound quite similar interrupted his reverie.
Edward sat up and looked out into the night. The ocean was as black as the sky, making it impossible to see further than 10 feet in front of him, but Edward kept scanning the horizon, the sound of water hitting the sides of another object was sounding louder and louder with each passing minute.
Something else was in the water and it was floating closer.
He squinted, as if that would help him see anything in this blackness, and he waited, feeling it draw nearer to his boat and a shiver of trepidation crept up his back and tickled the hairs on his neck. Whatever was out there it was moving slow, and images of great white sharks or even whales leapt to the forefront of his mind.
Edward moved back from the edge of the boat, sitting in the centre and hoping that whatever it was didn't have tentacles and could reach him. He briefly chuckled at his imagination, and how fear could make common sense vanish.
He watched and waited as the night eventually offered up its mystery.
At first, it looked like debris, a large uneven square of wood, bobbing across the surface of the ocean. Edward sighed, not realising he'd been holding his breath. He then noticed a small black mound of something unidentifiable, curled on top.
It was still too dark to make out any distinguishable shape so Edward reached for a paddle and slapped the water, trying to manipulate the current and draw the floating wood closer. He kept this up till the wood was within reaching distance. Grabbing a hold he pulled it to side of his boat. Edward's hand brushed against the dark bundle, causing clothing to fall away, exposing a face and naked shoulder.
Gasping, he quickly withdrew his hand and sat back.
It was a girl.
She was soaking wet and her skin had felt clammy, leaving Edward in no doubt she was hypothermic.
Her hair was matted around her face and neck, but he could tell it was long and dark. Her lashes fluttered against her cheek but didn't open. She looked so young and Edward had no idea what she was doing floating in the middle of the ocean, wearing next to nothing.
Glancing around, although not expecting to find anyone there to help him, Edward quickly fastened with rope to what appeared to be a door, then the other end onto the side of his boat and tried to lift her on board. She was hardly heavy, and wasn't very tall, but the angle of hanging overboard and taking her weight in his arms was too awkward and a little dangerous. He couldn't move her. The door bobbed frantically, causing Edward to lose his footing and almost slip overboard, capsizing them both.
He tried wrapping his hand and wrist around the rope and leaning closer, pulling her body against his side but the change in weight distribution caused the door the tilt and she went under.
"Fuck!" Edward tied the rope to his belt, all the time watching her pale face disappear beneath the surface of the water. When it was secure, he jumped in and reaching out wildly, he tried to establish where she was. The water was so black and despite the warm night, it felt cold against his body, shocking him into stopping swimming for just a moment.
Treading water, he squinted into the black void around him, trying desperately to see her, but she had been wrapped in dark clothing and her hair had been a halo of black, it was impossible to see her and he knew with every second she was sinking further away from him. Kicking his legs, Edward swam down a few metres and swung his hands around, feeling what felt like seaweed wrap around his fingers. Without delay, Edward yanked, trying to see if it was her hair he gripped or just weeds. Her face spun round, closer to his own than he realised, causing him to jolt back. Grabbing her waist with one hand and with the other now loosened from her hair, he tugged on the rope at his belt and followed it to the surface again.
They had both sunk lower than he'd estimated and panic began to rise, as his chest started to hurt, desperate for air. Edward broke the surface of the water, his lungs screaming, his arms burning and the dead weight of the girl dragging him back below the surface. He kicked back up again and gulped in more air before they both plunged back down into the sea. He was pleased he'd had the forethought to tie himself to the boat before jumping in, but as he tugged on the rope the knot untangle and drifted loosely in the water next to him.
Edward felt exhausted and he'd only been holding her for mere minutes. He kicked his legs but felt no effort behind them; he was tired, his chest hurt and the chilly water was making his muscles feel so heavy. The desire to give in and succumb to the dark depths overwhelmed him and for just a moment, he stopped fighting and let them both sink back down into the fathoms.
It was more peaceful than he'd anticipated, the pain in his lungs started to climb again but he guessed if he let them pop, the rest would just be – bliss.
He closed his eyes and felt weightlessness take over, his fingers uncurled from the girl and he felt her drift slowly away from him, but not too far, he could still feel her body bobbing against his own.
Suddenly someone grabbed his face and nails raked across his cheek. The cold water had numbed his skin but the sting was still evident. Edward's eyes popped open and his shocked gaze met her frightened one. Her eyes were wide and for a moment Edward could sense her questioning who the hell he was and how they'd both ended up drowning.
Edward gripped her wrists and yanked them from his face, then kicking he dragged her back up, his eyes frantically seeking light from the moon to tell him he was heading up and not further down.
He broke the surface once again and found, to his sheer delight, that he was only inches away from his boat. Using his last surge of strength, he threw her at the side and watched with relief as she gripped on tight, spluttering and trying to catch her breath.
"We need to get out of the water." He choked, and rather un-gentlemanly like, hoisted her up with his hands beneath her backside, till she had pulled her body up and over the side. She lay panting on the deck, unaware of Edward still in the water, kicking feebly and struggling to find the strength to pull himself out.
He held onto the small rail and rested, gulping in air and allowing his lungs to stop screaming in agony. He leant his head against the side of the boat and felt the water lapping and pushing him up against the vessel.
His body was cold, he felt heavy and all he wanted was to climb into his bed and sleep, but he needed to get out of the water first, so with one last vestige of stamina, Edward gripped on tight and hauled his wet ass out of the ocean.
He fell on the deck beside her, he on his stomach while she lay on her back. Her eyes were closed again and he watched her, unable to distinguish the passing of time. Her breathing remained laboured and every so often she twitched and moaned gently, her lips parting for the sound.
Edward studied her features, full top and bottom lip, clear jaw line, and pale skin. She was pretty.
He lifted his hands and groaned at the energy required to do this simple manoeuvre, and felt her forehead. Despite the cold water, she was burning up.
He needed to get her out of the wet clothes draped over her body and into something dry and warm. He had a change of clothes in a bag by the dashboard. Pushing himself up, it took every effort to get to the bag, open it and bring the clothes to her sleeping form.
Looking around, Edward realised the deck of Bowie was simply too small to sleep on and after he'd helped her get comfortable, he needed to rest too. Groaning again, he put the clothes back and turned on the engine, directing Bowie back to the jetty.
In his anger, it had felt like minutes when he'd boarded Bowie and raced out into the night, but in his current exhausted state with an unconscious stranger laying onboard, whom he'd rescued from the sea, the ride back to the jetty felt like a lifetime.
Eventually he spotted his father's yacht and moored up alongside. There were no lights on so Edward was confident no one was onboard.
Jumping down he used the spare key on his own keychain to unlock the gangway and went up, switching on lights and changing the thermostat. He rushed back to Bowie and was relieved to see her still laying in exactly the same place and position.
He lifted her gently in his arms and ignored the need to cry with the sheer effort it took to carry her onto his father's yacht.
Edward laid her down on the bed and reached for the wet clothes swaddled around her. It appeared to be some sort of blanket and as he pulled it free, he realised she was completely naked underneath.
He didn't mean to be crude but the guy in him couldn't help but admire her figure. She was slight in build and much too skinny for his liking, her ribs visible beneath the thin membrane of skin, but she was still stunning to look at. She was so pale, the shade reminded Edward of milk. He guessed her age at early teens when he'd only seen her face, but her body told him she was older. Her hair was long, both on her head and her privates, which intrigue Edward as all the women he'd been with shaved or waxed till there was nothing left.
He dropped the sodden blanket to the floor. He felt weird seeing her so naked and vulnerable, and quickly grabbed his t-shirt and pulled it over her head. It was near impossible to pull it over her body without having to touch her, so sitting on the bed beside her, he gently lifted her shoulders and pulled her arms through the sleeves and the shirt down her torso. She was much smaller in height and build than Edward so the t-shirt rested mid thigh. Satisfied this was enough to bestow her some dignity, Edward pulled a cotton sheet over her legs and went into the galley.
Rubbing his face roughly, Edward tried to think clearly. He had no idea how long she'd been in the water and he was lucky she hadn't drowned after his clumsy attempt at saving her. She must've swallowed some water and he feared that her fever indicated she was falling sick. She needed help but his body ached and he eyes felt grainy with the need to sleep.
He sat down on a kitchen stool and rested his head on the counter. The relief at closing his eyes was immense but Edward was so aware of his cold, wet clothes clinging to his body and groaning, he stood and stripped off in the kitchen, leaving them in a soggy pile where they fell. Walking slowly back to the bedroom, Edward grabbed another sheet and wrapping it around his waist, he lay on the bed next to the sleeping girl, and let exhaustion take him.
Isabella felt hot and claustrophobic. The blanket was curled tightly around her legs and she felt desperate to feel cool air on her skin. Grumbling under her breath, she kicked at the offending material till it fell off and left her satisfied and more comfortable.
Rolling onto her side she bumped into something, and opening her eyes, she realised it was a man.
Gasping, she scooted back and clutched at the clothing near her throat. Her dress had been ripped off her, that much she remembered, so she was surprised and confused to find she was now covered in a smaller item, its colour deep red and rather indecent as it barely covered her thighs. Glancing back at the man, she felt heat flood her cheeks when she noticed the blanket wrapped round his waist had become loose and fallen lower, barely covering his manhood.
His chest and stomach were firm and tanned, something she wasn't really used to seeing as her husband had a pale, flabby gut and hair matted across his entire body, which included his back. This man was hairless, except for the slight trail leading down from his belly to beneath the blanket.
Isabella couldn't see what treasure lay under there, but she could see the bulge through the thin cotton sheet. An unrecognisable urge to reach over and cup it, made Isabella blush even more and look away from him.
She felt strange, too warm, and yet her skin was clammy. She felt hungry but sickened at the idea of food. She was also extremely thirsty but had no idea where she was or who this man was, and why they lay in bed together.
Isabella suddenly gasped, realising that both he and she were half naked and nausea overwhelmed her as she imagined what that meant.
Isabella was not a whore and she had only ever been with one man, her husband, and despite the fact that when laying with him she was an unwilling party, it was her duty as his wife and so she had usually just surrendered and mostly just lay still, waiting for it to be over.
Looking back at the man beside her, Isabella felt a need she didn't understand take a hold in her stomach and for a fleeting moment, she thought that laying with this particular man, would not be the unpleasant experience she had come to expect.
These thoughts were so foreign to her and covering her mouth Isabella retched, but had nothing to give. She was so ashamed of her thoughts and for whatever actions had led her to his bed. Reaching for the bedside table, Isabella clumsily knocked over an object with numbers on it, making it crash to the floor.
The man jumped and sat up, glancing groggily around the room. Isabella grabbed the sheet she had kicked off from the floor and clutched it to her chest, trying desperately to cover herself. She was so ashamed.
He rubbed his hands across his eyes and glanced at her, seeming shocked to see her awake and out of bed.
"Hi," he said, his voice soft and friendly, not like her husband's, which was gravelly and course. He was always so mad at her. "How are you feeling?"
Isabella blinked at his question, surprised he'd even asked her. No one had ever asked her that before. Not ever.
"Are you thirsty? I know I am." Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he secured the blanket around his waist and walked out of the room. Isabella stayed where she was. "Do you want some water, or perhaps some coffee?" he called.
Isabella, curious, stood and followed him from the room, finding him standing, still half naked, in front of a white object. It was large and had a handle on it, which he pulled, bathing the interior in light, which to her partial dismay and delight illuminated his legs through the thin sheet. She could see his buttocks and as he bent to pick something up from the bottom of the white box, she could clearly make out his manhood hanging between his thighs.
Blushing, Isabella turned away and prayed he would find some decent clothing and spare her this torture.
Edward busied himself with brewing the coffee, and wondered why she had yet to speak one word. Surely she was confused and possibly frightened? She'd been floating, half naked in the sea and awoke to find herself on board a yacht with a stranger! He knew he would question that if the roles had been reversed.
Edward paused, and wondered if she was a few bulbs short of a chandelier.
He turned to glance at her over his shoulder and caught her staring at his sheet covered buttocks. Chuckling, he turned back to the counter but a light outside caught his eye. He squinted out through the porthole.
Dropping everything, Edward gripped the sheet around his waist tighter, and ran up onto the deck.
Scanning the horizon, and shivering Edward watched in fascination and bewilderment as snow fluttered onto his bare shoulders and chest. It must have been snowing all night, because the deck was completely covered.
Edward turned and looked towards the jetty but couldn't see land. The vast openness of the azure blue ocean surrounded the yacht and Edward ran to each side, checking, and double checking that t couldn't be true.
Isabella had followed him the steps and hovered in the doorway, reluctant to come outside any further. It was freezing.
She watched as he ran around the boat, gripping the handrails and swearing as he looked around in wonder.
Noticing the girl, Edward walked towards her. "It's snowing!" he stated the obvious.
Isabella blinked, and cocked her head slightly, guessing he had never seen snow before.
"You don't think that's just a little strange?" Edward pointed out at the white horizon. She didn't answer, which annoyed the hell out of him. "It's snowing!" he repeated.
Suddenly remembering he had pulled her from the ocean, Edward lowered his hand. It was quite possible she had concussion, or amnesia or something, hence her silence.
"We're in Miami," Edward told her. "It's August!" He wondered if she even spoke English. He needed her to see the obscurity here. Snow in the hottest month in Miami was weirder than finding a mute, half naked girl floating in the water.
What was even stranger than that was the fact that last night, when they had boarded the yacht it had been moored to the jetty, yet they were now floating aimlessly in the middle of the Atlantic.
Edward realised it was quite possible they weren't in the Atlantic, slightly offshore from Miami, but had in fact travelled further, which could explain the snow.
But how could they float so far North? They'd approached - heck, he didn't know - Greenland? Without engine power?
Nothing made sense; nothing. Not since he'd spotted her sprawled on a broken door, drifting towards him.
"Can you talk to me, please?" he begged. "You have to see this is all a little bizarre? You are here, with me, on a yacht, in the middle of fucking nowhere, half dressed, half drowned, half sick, and it's snowing, and we're lost and I have no fucking clue what the hell is going on!" Edward's voice rose louder as he turned his question from the silent girl up to the heavens. "What the fuck is going on?" He looked up at the sky, the snowflakes melting as they gently fell on his upturned face.
Isabella looked up too, and asked the same question, but silently.
Suddenly Edward's attention turned toward the engine. Laughing quietly, he shook his head and raced over to a colourful contraption sticking up from between all the lights and arrows. Edward turned it and his smile fell away as nothing happened. Isabella didn't know what was supposed to happen, but she knew by the look on his face that he'd expected more.
"Fuckkk!" he yelled, causing Isabella to jump.
"We're lost, and we have no power! This is just fucking great."
Isabella started to really worry about her safety. Sure, she had woken in his bed, and knew nothing about him, yet she hadn't felt afraid, not really.
She guessed it was because his persona was completely different to that of her husband. She had woken clean and dry, and for reasons beyond her comprehension, she had felt cared for.
Her husband was an abusive man; a man who cared nothing for her welfare, or her feelings and had never even cared if she had been ill. So she was confident that she knew caring when she witnessed it, even of the smallest nature.
She was wearing a clean piece of clothing, and although it barely covered her thighs, it had been consideration which had made him replace her own wet, dirty clothing with his.
She tried not to think about the indecency of a man whom she was not married too, undressing and holding her body. Her cheeks burned with the humiliation of it, and Isabella prayed no one would ever find out about that.
But now his temper was getting the better of him, and Isabella recognised anger, too. She didn't like it, and now she wanted to put as much space between them as possible in case his anger turned demonstrative.
She had been on the receiving end of a fist or palm, even a foot, too many times to count. Without conscious thought, Isabella lifted her hand and softly stroked her upper arm. The bruise was felt by Isabella but not visible. She was lucky that she didn't bruise easily. This was also lucky for her husband, as he never had to worry about Isabella hiding the results of his beatings.
Not that anyone would've cared enough, or even dared to question him about it had she sported a bruise or cut for all to see.
In Isabella's world, people minded their own business, and she was no one's business but his.
Backing away slowly, Isabella reached the bottom of the steps, and looked around her. She spotted the crumpled bed sheets from where they had slept, and glancing back at him to make sure he hadn't noticed her fleeing, Isabella raced towards that bedroom and closed the door. Frantic, she searched for a lock and sighed with gratitude when she discovered a round brass knob with a small button in the middle. She pressed the button tentatively, and then tried to open the door again, just to be sure.
It was locked.
Isabella curled up on the bed and tucked the sheets around her, tightly.
Edward gave up trying to start the engine. He let his shoulders slump and feeling the cold numb his bare skin, he walked back down into the galley. He needed that damn coffee.
He looked towards the bedroom and noticed the door was closed. Assuming she had gone inside to look for more adequate clothing, Edward continued to make the much needed coffee.
Once it was brewed, he sat at the table, facing the bedroom and nursing a cup in his hands. He was frozen. He pondered the snow again, and his mind whirled with all of the confusing facts since he'd pulled her from the water. None of it seemed connected, yet Edward was pretty damn sure it was.
"It's snowing," he muttered to himself, before taking a sip, "in Miami." He shook his head. "In August!"
He drank the cup dry and getting up, Edward poured another, and one for the girl. He walked to bedroom, and knocked softly. "I've got coffee," he said and walked back to the table.
She didn't appear, and Edward grew frustrated. He didn't want to try to figure this all out on his own. He wanted to know who she was, where she had come from and why she was floating in the sea. He wanted to know how the yacht had become unmoored from the dock, and how far they'd drifted. Why the engines wouldn't start, and why the fuck it was snowing.
So many questions and only a couple could be answered right now.
Edward walked back to the door and tried the handle, finding it locked. "Hey," he called softly. "Can I come in?"
"Or can you come out?"
He knocked again.
"I need some help out here," he told her. By help he meant answers but he didn't want to scare her. It was then that Edward recalled his temper tantrum up on deck, and surmising he had possibly frightened her into hiding he sighed, and ran his hand through his hair.
"I'm sorry I yelled."
Edward thought he heard a small movement from behind the door.
"I'm just so damn lost, literally."
He listened as gentle footsteps pattered closer to the door.
"I guess we should start with an introduction. I'm Edward Masen. I live in Miami, it's not important the exact address, and this is my Dad's yacht. I'm 26, born June 20th, 1987." Edward thought it was amusing to give all the mundane details, as if he was in a job interview or at one of those speed dating events. Not that he had ever needed to go to such a desperate place.
The door clicked and slowly opened, revealing her face. She looked confused which didn't really surprise him. He was confused to.
She spoke quietly, with no hint of an accent to her voice. "Isabella Marie Hunter. 19 Years old, born September 13th-," she paused and looked at the ground. Edward smiled, and waited for her to finish. He liked that she was playing along.
Taking a deep breath, Isabella wanted to finish her sentence, but she was so afraid; afraid of her voice, of the words she was about to speak, of the strange and obscure events that had led her here to him, and why they now found themselves lost in a snowstorm, adrift at sea. She was afraid of how he would react and what was going to happen to her, to them. She had faced fear so many times in her life before this day, but this was a different type of fear, and she had no comprehension of the why's and what-fors. Isabella just knew this man had saved her life last night, and despite not knowing more than his name and date of birth, he was her only hope.
Taking a deep breath, and looking back up at him, Isabella finished her introduction. "Isabella Marie Hunter. Born September 13th, 1879."