The Emotional Education of Edward Cullen - Chapter 6
Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.
Author: Picklewinkle (ff.net)/JCAddict (LJ)
Characters/Pairing: Edward & Bella
Rating: M
Category: Drama/Angst/Romance
Spoilers: None
Summary: Edward Cullen is brilliant and complicated but also closed off and socially inept. Can Bella teach him how to tap into and understand his emotions through an unorthodox experiment without breaking her own heart in the process? AH.
Chapter 6: Why Not Just Pay A Prostitute?
DISCLAIMER: Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. The remainder of the words, plot and lackluster formatting belong to me.
Ginormous grateful thank yous to my betas Scorp112 and LightStarDusting. I couldn't have two better sources of support. You have these two to thank for making the story sparkle.
I also wanted to say thank you to amcas for rec'ing this story on her blog and for the banner she made. I'm so honored!
Thanks to everyone who has been reading and reviewing. I love hearing from you guys and sincerely appreciate the support. Keep it up!
Without further adieu…
Chapter 6: Why Not Just Pay A Prostitute?
EPOV
The school day dragged endlessly. I was anxious for it to end so I could start my 'hard sell' with Bella. Perhaps my experiment wasn't the best solution, but it was the only approach I'd thought of that could actually help me figure out exactly how she made me feel. I selfishly wanted to make her see the merit in it. Of course, it wasn't without benefits for her, as well, and bringing them to light would strengthen my argument. She was meeting me at my house for our run, so I raced home to beat her there. I was stretching in the living room when she knocked at the front door.
"Did you buy that just for today?" I asked as I let her in. She was wearing proper running gear: a lightweight jacket and three quarter length running tights. "Or do you run regularly?"
"Hello to you too," she greeted in a sarcastic tone. She shook her head at me as she walked past me. "I don't run that often. I bought these for the days we run in gym because I didn't want to freeze my ass off in shorts. I get cold easily-"
"Because of the rain," we said in unison. I smiled as she laughed, hoping it meant that she was in a good mood.
"I was just stretching," I explained, settling back into my spot on the living room floor to stretch my hamstrings. The open concept room allowed me to see Bella perfectly from where I sat. She remained in the foyer, her hands pressed against the wall for support as she stretched her calves. I'm not sure what I hoped to perceive. My quiet scrutiny hadn't helped me to discern much of anything so far, but I studied her anyway. Her eyes darted to mine, her expression betraying her annoyance, but I didn't look away.
I was working on my lower back and hips when she joined me on the floor. I liked it better when she was across the room. It made observing her less obvious.
"You're quite flexible," I mumbled, noticing how flat her back was as she bent forward and held her toes with both hands. She acknowledged my comment with a snicker. "What are you laughing at?"
She shook her head and rolled her eyes. "You," she answered in an almost outraged tone. "Do you think I sit around every day doing nothing?"
I assumed her question was rhetorical and shrugged. "I don't remember you being particularly athletic."
She huffed exasperatedly. "And I don't remember you being over six feet tall or having problems with speaking before you think. People change, Edward."
Ignoring her bitter tone, I asked, "What do you mean 'speaking before I -think?'"
She was staring at me with an incredulous expression on her face. "I mean you're being rude," she informed me flatly.
"I am?" I was mystified. Somehow I'd already managed to piss her off, and I wasn't sure how I'd done it.
She got to her feet, her hands coming to rest on her slender hips. "Look, the last time you really knew me, I was ten. I played with dolls, thought the sun and moon rose and set around my father, and my biggest aspiration in life was to marry one of the brothers from Hanson. I think it's safe to say that you need to forget everything you knew back then and get to know who I am today."
"You liked Hanson?" I kept my face expressionless and held my breath, hoping I'd chosen the right way to lighten the mood.
"I was ten! And you're totally missing my point here." She laughed as she sidestepped my accusation. I was relieved that my unintentional rudeness hadn't done any permanent damage to her disposition.
"It's very easy to push your buttons." I smiled, unable to contain my amusement.
"Haha, very funny… You're a regular comedian."
I was about to try my hand at another joke when Bella put an end to my teasing without meaning to. She lifted her leg to stretch her quadriceps, and the pale skin of her calf caught my attention. As she pulled her foot into her body and held it there, I followed the motion with my eyes. Before I knew it, I was flat out staring at her ass. She'd rendered me speechless without saying a word - or rather, her ass had. My body reacted instantly. I turned my back to hide my unfortunate situation and slipped by her. Waiting in the foyer, I gave her a chance to finish stretching and myself a moment to get my hormones under control.
When she was done and had re-joined me, I opened the front door for her, motioning her ahead of me. Of course, this put me behind her again, which was exactly the position I needed to avoid if I wanted to stay focused. Even if my brain didn't know what it wanted, there was no denying that my physiology liked the view.
I let Bella set the pace and fell in beside her light jog easily. I couldn't discern if she was merely focused or had something on her mind that was upsetting her. Her head was forward, her expression one of concentration. It was in stark contrast to her hair. She had her long hair pulled back into a ponytail, and it bounced buoyantly from shoulder to shoulder with each step she took.
"Why are you staring at me?" she asked a moment later.
"Am I staring?" I knew I was, of course, but she hadn't looked in my direction, so there was no way she could know.
"Yes, I can feel you looking at me."
I corrected her. "You can't feel someone look at you."
"Will you just tell me why you're staring?" she demanded impatiently, turning her head to glare at me like I'd affronted her.
I gave her a truthful answer. "I was watching your ponytail."
She stopped dead and turned toward me, grabbing my forearm to halt me. "Look, if you invited me just to make fun of me, then I can turn around and go home right now."
"That's not why I invited you, and I wasn't making fun of you." Obviously, she was feeling more sensitive than I'd realized.
She started to jog again, so I did too. "Then why are you watching my ponytail?" she asked cautiously.
"It looks so jovial the way it bounces," I answered sincerely.
"Edward, you are one of the oddest people I have ever met." Her tone rang with disbelief. Maybe our conversation at the library yesterday had bothered her more than she let on. At the very least, she doubted my ability to be truthful with her for some reason.
"Would you rather I lie about what I was doing?" I asked.
"No, I'd rather the things you do and say made sense to me."
"They make sense to me." Though unpretentious in its intent, it was an unpersuasive argument.
She huffed in frustration. "That's my point. It's bad enough that I have to figure out how a guy thinks if I want to be your friend. On top of that, I have to somehow understand how you think, which is, by some strange twist of fate, even more bizarre than the average male."
"I disagree. You don't need to understand me to be my friend. I certainly don't understand you."
"You don't know women at all, Edward. We don't want to feel like a friend is making fun of us, and if we can't follow your thought process, we will never understand the difference between good natured teasing and meanness."
"I wouldn't be considered a friend if I was intentionally being mean," I pointed out. "And I fully admit that I don't understand women. Why do you think I asked for your help yesterday?"
"To get a piece of ass," she accused, snickering. "You are male, after all."
"If it were only about sex, don't you think I would have tried a more direct approach?" As logical as my argument was, I had to work not to sound put off by her platitude.
"Maybe you thought you could hook me with your impressive brain power?" she suggested sarcastically.
"I wasn't trying to hook you." I rolled my eyes at her to reinforce the absurdity of her conjecture. "I was asking for your assistance. And I wasn't the only one who stood to 'get a piece of ass,' as you so eloquently put it."
With a sideways glance in my direction, she clarified, "Okay, you were the only one looking for a piece of ass then."
I knew exchanging cheap shots with her was not going to help my case. As it was, her attitude was defensive and negative, not exactly the easiest frame of mind to argue her out of. Discouragement was creeping up on me. "I was looking to gain understanding in an area I know very little about, an area that is your expertise."
"Sex is not an area of expertise for me," she said curtly, her voice coming out in panting wheezes.
"Not sex, but rather the opposite sex, as in women." Frustration evident in my voice, I tried to explain why I thought she could help me. "I am not good at understanding emotion, and women are essentially emotional creatures, are they not?"
"Not entirely. We have brains, and occasionally we even use them."
"Why are you being so sarcastic, Bella? I'm not putting women down. I'm asking a woman for her opinion and input."
The pace of our run was increasing with the intensity of our conversation. Bella was having trouble talking through her ragged breathing.
"No, you're not. You're trying to drag me into the middle of something because of some comment I made to you when I was drugged. You're twisting something that should be a natural extension of two people's feelings into an extracurricular activity." It seemed like she was hiding something behind the edge in her voice, maybe transferring hurt feelings from a different situation or testing me to ferret out my intentions. She'd been so calm at the library when I first brought it up. Something had drastically changed her outlook.
"So you're not interested in sex then?" I asked, wondering why she was angry. I didn't dare ask, for fear it would only make her angrier.
"I'm not interested in sex for the sake of sex." She glared at me with an indignant expression.
"This would be sex for the sake of learning, if it even got that far. I think we both agree that we don't know exactly what we're capable of." My voice was quiet and reserved as I gave her a gentle reminder that I wanted to start simply and move slowly.
Like she hadn't heard me, she barked another gibe. "If you want to learn about sex, you should watch porn. I hear that's what most boys your age do."
Her comment was as tasteless as it was insulting, and I couldn't hold back my anger. "That's what sex is to you? A woman screaming to be fucked harder while a man penetrates every hole on her body and then comes on her face? That's not emotional, that's borderline abusive!"
Her voice was strained and quiet, but even my anger wasn't enough to stop her from making another assumption. "That's not what sex is to me, but I'd bet most guys would love to do a woman that way."
"I may not want the emotional entanglements, Bella, but I certainly don't want that. That sort of sexual experience would give me no pleasure whatsoever."
The pace had become too much. Bella stopped running and bent forward, resting her hands on her knees to support her upper body while she caught her breath.
"I thought I understood you, Edward, but I give up. You don't want emotional sex, and you don't want fucking. I don't have a clue what you're after with this crazy experiment."
I tried to bury my frustration. At least she understood what I didn't want. Now, I had to make her see what I hoped to gain. "I want exactly what I tried to explain, to explore sex within the bounds of a trusting and understanding union, with no emotional attachments to complicate matters."
"Why?" she demanded between breaths. "How can what you're after be much more than glorified masturbation?"
"I can't answer that without experience," I told her honestly. "I suspect there is more to sex than orgasm, or no one would partake in it when masturbation is so much more convenient."
"Why not just pay a prostitute then, for the sake of science, of course?" I couldn't determine if her question was sarcastic or serious, and her expression gave nothing away. She waited silently for my reply, her deep brown eyes unrelenting. I decided to take her seriously.
I sidestepped her question a little, knowing I couldn't be completely honest about the thoughts in my head without hurting her. That was the last thing I wanted. Instead, I concentrated on what I knew to be true. "I'm fairly sure that performance is dependant on a stress-free environment, and you know I'm not socially comfortable around most people. I can't do this with someone I don't trust."
"So you need me?" she asked.
"In a matter of speaking, yes."
"For sex?" Her qualification made me squirm. Even I understood how crazy it sounded when I heard her speak the words.
"I need a friend, someone who understands me and is willing to take a chance on me." I was uncomfortable admitting this aloud, as if it somehow exposed that her kiss made me feel something, but some part of my sentiment hit home with Bella. The disbelief in her expression melted away.
"The way you took a chance on me," she said quietly.
I didn't follow her logic. "What do you mean?"
Her eyes shifted to her feet, her voice shameful. "With Mike."
What I was proposing had nothing to do with Mike. I certainly didn't want her shame to play any part in our interactions, especially since she'd done nothing to be ashamed of in the first place. "I helped someone who was being taken advantage of, which isn't the same thing. That's not what this is about, Bella. You don't owe me this as payback. If you're in because you want to try, that's one thing. If you're only considering this out of some misplaced sense of duty, then rethink it. It's going to be a big enough challenge with both of us as willing participants. Antipathy will make it an albatross."
Bella didn't look up at me or respond in any way. The dead air effectively put an end to our conversation. I didn't know what else to say or how to smooth things over. Bella kicked at the ground with her toe and shifted from foot to foot, making it clear with her body language that she was uncomfortable. I finally asked her if she wanted to turn around and head home.
As we ran in silence, I tried to read her expression, but the thoughts behind it were a mystery to me. It should have been simple to ask her to tell me, but it wasn't. I was worried I'd pushed too far and asked too much. This was so much more complicated than I wanted it to be.
Bella stopped beside her truck once we reached my house. I stopped too, still unsure about what to say. I watched as she fiddled with her keys, futilely willing the right words to come to me.
"I guess I'll see you at school," she said as she unlocked her truck.
I felt a rush of panic. Our unfinished conversation had left things between us kind of raw. I didn't want her to leave until we'd resolved the discomfort. "Would you like to come in? I know you don't like the cold. I could make us some hot chocolate."
"I think it's better if I go." She didn't seem sad or upset or even angry any longer. I absently wondered if she knew how confident she sounded, like she was sure that leaving was the right thing for her to do. Maybe it was.
"I don't want you to go," I told her honestly. "Not with things as they are; not yet anyway."
"Things as they are?" she asked quietly, like she had no clue what I was referring to.
"You're angry with me, and I don't want to you to leave with so much tension between us."
"You're allowed to have your own opinions, Edward, and they're not always going to mesh with mine." She smiled softly at me. Her logic was spot on, but it did nothing to relieve me of the urgency I was feeling.
"I know, but I've hurt your feelings, and that was the last thing I wanted to do. Please give me a chance to make it up to you." As I spoke, I tried to work out in my brain why it was so important to stop her from going home. The desire seemed too intense to be due to our disagreement, her reluctance in regard to the experiment, or any resulting rift between us. I decided it was a result of all three.
"Okay, one drink."
Though her agreement was reluctant, relief washed over me. I showed her in and took her jacket, suggesting she take a seat in the living room. Instead, she followed me into the kitchen and settled herself on one of the stools at the island while I busied myself with making hot chocolate. While I waited for the kettle to boil, I put some cookies out on a plate and set it on the counter in front of Bella. She watched me shyly as I moved about the kitchen, putting things away and cleaning up after myself. I would have paid someone hard cash to know what she was thinking.
"Be careful, it's hot," I warned, putting two steaming mugs down on the counter and sitting on the stool beside her. She smiled at me in thankful understanding. Carefully bringing the mug to her mouth, she blew on the top of the liquid. The action brought an unfamiliar tightening in my chest that made no sense to me, only serving to make me feel more self-conscious.
"Thanks. This is good. You seem to know your way around the kitchen pretty well." Her hands cupped her drink, absorbing the warmth the hot liquid transferred to the mug.
"My mother taught me. She wanted me to be able to take care of myself when she was away." The kitchen was one place my mother and I always seemed to connect. The food, the preparation, even the clean up was a part of our comfortable routine. We worked in quiet harmony when we cooked, a synergy we found in few other places apart from music.
"Is she away a lot?" Bella asked quietly. As if she were studying her surroundings, her gaze drifted around the kitchen, but it was obvious to me that she was trying to disguise her curiosity, being purposefully cautious in case the subject was a touchy one for me. It wasn't.
"Yes. She's touring right now. She's a pianist with the Seattle Symphony Orchestra." I smiled warmly. My mother's musical accomplishments were something I was very proud of.
"Like mother, like son, I suppose?" Her tentative assumption made me realize she did not remember our prior conversation about this topic.
"I'm not nearly as talented as she is," I answered honestly. A gift like my mother's was rare, and while I was blessed with ability, I did not possess the consuming passion for music that she did.
"I wondered if you played when I saw the piano in the living room. You've got such long fingers." She'd made the same observation in the parking lot the night she'd been drugged. I bit my lip to keep from chuckling.
Bella moved her hand beside mine. It was tiny in contrast - feminine, delicate and overwhelmingly appealing. The force of the feeling inundated me.
"Your hand looks so petite next to mine," I mumbled. I didn't understand my reaction, to a hand of all things. Could she hear my marvel in my voice, if that was even the right word to describe the feeling pulsing through me?
"It's why I can't play. Stubby fingers trip on the keys." Her matter-of-fact tone snapped me out of my head.
"That's nonsense. Your piano teacher didn't tell you that, did she?"
"No, my mother." I had come to expect the hint of sadness in her tone and expression when the subject of her mother came up, but I still hated it. A mother was supposed to be nurturing, not a source of negative emotion.
"Your mother was wrong. You just need the right technique to compensate."
"Really?" Her eyes were wide and surprised. It bothered me that she'd been told she wasn't capable of something.
"Sure, let me show you." Without thinking, I grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the living room. It wasn't until I let go of her to pull out the piano bench, that I realized I had been holding her hand. It had been entirely comfortable. I dare say it was even natural, or at least what I assumed natural should feel like. This surprised me. I wasn't expecting it to be so easy. I offered the bench to Bella and waited for her to sit down.
I sat down beside her, letting my hands rest on the keyboard. "You have to remember that playing the piano is a physical experience. You don't just use your fingers. Posture is so important - a straight back and loose, low, relaxed shoulders." I rolled my shoulders back to emphasize my point. "Where you sit is important too. If you sit too close to the keys, you restrict your movement, and if you sit too far away, you won't be able to use your body weight to influence your playing. Right now, you're too far away, but this is perfect for me. See how my forearms are almost horizontal? That's what you want, or a slight slope towards your hands is fine too."
Bella nodded and smiled. She was paying very close attention to me, and it pleased me that she was so interested.
"Next is your hands, and I suspect this may be where your teacher failed you. Just because your hands are small, doesn't mean you can't play effectively. You just have to remember that all of your fingers are a different size and shape, so you have to position them properly to make each work equally well. Put your hands on the keyboard."
"You want me to play?" she asked uneasily, casting a fearful glance in my direction.
"No, I just want to see how you hold your hands." I smiled encouragingly.
She spread her fingers across the keys and looked up at me timidly. "I haven't played in a long time."
"The way you're holding your fingers right now, with your knuckles sloping down toward your pinky fingers, doesn't leave your smaller, weaker fingers room to play. Your knuckles need to be level and your fingers slightly rounded, almost like your hand is cupped." She adjusted her hands and looked for my approval. "That's right," I praised. "You just need to relax your wrists. They should be a tiny bit lower than your hands." I moved my hands to her wrists and adjusted their position. I tried very hard not to react to the tingling in my fingertips where they met her skin.
"I guess I'm out of practice," she mumbled, sounding embarrassed. She needn't be. Given what her mother led her to believe about her skills, it was a wonder that she was still interested in the piano.
"You're doing fine," I said supportively. "You just need some time for it to come back to you."
She looked down at the keys. Her voice was quiet and unsure. "Would you play for me?"
"What would you like to hear?" I was curious if she had a favorite composer or piece. I could probably play it if she did.
"Anything. You choose."
My fingers drifted over the keys with ease, translating the notes my mind knew by heart. It was my mother's favorite song, and I hoped that Bella might like it too. She watched my hands, paying careful attention to the way they moved. She was smiling by the time the music came to a close.
"That was beautiful, so much better than anything I've ever attempted."
"You can thank my mother," I told her. "It's her favorite."
"If I ever meet her, I will." Bella's cheeks reddened slightly. It made me excessively curious to know what she was thinking.
"I think she'd like to meet you," I confided. Bella was exactly the sort of friend my mother would want for me. Beyond her obvious character strengths, Bella's kindness and goodness would bring her into my mother's good graces within minutes.
The idea made Bella blush even more profusely. She looked up at me through her lashes. "Is she gone all weekend?"
"My mother?" I asked, momentarily distracted by her gaze. "She'll be home on Monday for a few days."
"She lets you stay home alone while she's gone?"
"For the most part." Technically, I wasn't by myself. "My neighbors Carmen and Eleazar look in on me while my mother is away."
"So you're free tomorrow?" she clarified, wrapping the hair of her ponytail around her hand absent-mindedly.
"Yes, why?" I couldn't connect anything, not her blush or her questions. My mind spun in circles trying to figure out what she was getting at.
"I was hoping we could get together. We should talk about your experiment if we're going to make a go of it. Trying is all I can promise, at least until we talk. Are you in?" She stared at me, waiting for me to answer, her expression a cross between sincerity and warmth.
"Definitely," I agreed. After the disastrous conversation during our run, I was sure the experiment was dead in the water. Though she hadn't entirely agreed to take part, the fact that she was willing to discuss it at all left me feeling hopeful.
She smiled and got to her feet. "I'll bring dinner. Say about six?"
"Sounds good." Better than good, it sounded like the opportunity I'd been hoping for. As I watched her drive away, it dawned on me that tomorrow couldn't get here fast enough.
A/N: So where do you think it's going from here? Click the review button and let me know!
Author: Picklewinkle (ff.net)/JCAddict (LJ)
Characters/Pairing: Edward & Bella
Rating: M
Category: Drama/Angst/Romance
Spoilers: None
Summary: Edward Cullen is brilliant and complicated but also closed off and socially inept. Can Bella teach him how to tap into and understand his emotions through an unorthodox experiment without breaking her own heart in the process? AH.
Chapter 6: Why Not Just Pay A Prostitute?
DISCLAIMER: Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. The remainder of the words, plot and lackluster formatting belong to me.
Ginormous grateful thank yous to my betas Scorp112 and LightStarDusting. I couldn't have two better sources of support. You have these two to thank for making the story sparkle.
I also wanted to say thank you to amcas for rec'ing this story on her blog and for the banner she made. I'm so honored!
Thanks to everyone who has been reading and reviewing. I love hearing from you guys and sincerely appreciate the support. Keep it up!
Without further adieu…
Chapter 6: Why Not Just Pay A Prostitute?
EPOV
The school day dragged endlessly. I was anxious for it to end so I could start my 'hard sell' with Bella. Perhaps my experiment wasn't the best solution, but it was the only approach I'd thought of that could actually help me figure out exactly how she made me feel. I selfishly wanted to make her see the merit in it. Of course, it wasn't without benefits for her, as well, and bringing them to light would strengthen my argument. She was meeting me at my house for our run, so I raced home to beat her there. I was stretching in the living room when she knocked at the front door.
"Did you buy that just for today?" I asked as I let her in. She was wearing proper running gear: a lightweight jacket and three quarter length running tights. "Or do you run regularly?"
"Hello to you too," she greeted in a sarcastic tone. She shook her head at me as she walked past me. "I don't run that often. I bought these for the days we run in gym because I didn't want to freeze my ass off in shorts. I get cold easily-"
"Because of the rain," we said in unison. I smiled as she laughed, hoping it meant that she was in a good mood.
"I was just stretching," I explained, settling back into my spot on the living room floor to stretch my hamstrings. The open concept room allowed me to see Bella perfectly from where I sat. She remained in the foyer, her hands pressed against the wall for support as she stretched her calves. I'm not sure what I hoped to perceive. My quiet scrutiny hadn't helped me to discern much of anything so far, but I studied her anyway. Her eyes darted to mine, her expression betraying her annoyance, but I didn't look away.
I was working on my lower back and hips when she joined me on the floor. I liked it better when she was across the room. It made observing her less obvious.
"You're quite flexible," I mumbled, noticing how flat her back was as she bent forward and held her toes with both hands. She acknowledged my comment with a snicker. "What are you laughing at?"
She shook her head and rolled her eyes. "You," she answered in an almost outraged tone. "Do you think I sit around every day doing nothing?"
I assumed her question was rhetorical and shrugged. "I don't remember you being particularly athletic."
She huffed exasperatedly. "And I don't remember you being over six feet tall or having problems with speaking before you think. People change, Edward."
Ignoring her bitter tone, I asked, "What do you mean 'speaking before I -think?'"
She was staring at me with an incredulous expression on her face. "I mean you're being rude," she informed me flatly.
"I am?" I was mystified. Somehow I'd already managed to piss her off, and I wasn't sure how I'd done it.
She got to her feet, her hands coming to rest on her slender hips. "Look, the last time you really knew me, I was ten. I played with dolls, thought the sun and moon rose and set around my father, and my biggest aspiration in life was to marry one of the brothers from Hanson. I think it's safe to say that you need to forget everything you knew back then and get to know who I am today."
"You liked Hanson?" I kept my face expressionless and held my breath, hoping I'd chosen the right way to lighten the mood.
"I was ten! And you're totally missing my point here." She laughed as she sidestepped my accusation. I was relieved that my unintentional rudeness hadn't done any permanent damage to her disposition.
"It's very easy to push your buttons." I smiled, unable to contain my amusement.
"Haha, very funny… You're a regular comedian."
I was about to try my hand at another joke when Bella put an end to my teasing without meaning to. She lifted her leg to stretch her quadriceps, and the pale skin of her calf caught my attention. As she pulled her foot into her body and held it there, I followed the motion with my eyes. Before I knew it, I was flat out staring at her ass. She'd rendered me speechless without saying a word - or rather, her ass had. My body reacted instantly. I turned my back to hide my unfortunate situation and slipped by her. Waiting in the foyer, I gave her a chance to finish stretching and myself a moment to get my hormones under control.
When she was done and had re-joined me, I opened the front door for her, motioning her ahead of me. Of course, this put me behind her again, which was exactly the position I needed to avoid if I wanted to stay focused. Even if my brain didn't know what it wanted, there was no denying that my physiology liked the view.
I let Bella set the pace and fell in beside her light jog easily. I couldn't discern if she was merely focused or had something on her mind that was upsetting her. Her head was forward, her expression one of concentration. It was in stark contrast to her hair. She had her long hair pulled back into a ponytail, and it bounced buoyantly from shoulder to shoulder with each step she took.
"Why are you staring at me?" she asked a moment later.
"Am I staring?" I knew I was, of course, but she hadn't looked in my direction, so there was no way she could know.
"Yes, I can feel you looking at me."
I corrected her. "You can't feel someone look at you."
"Will you just tell me why you're staring?" she demanded impatiently, turning her head to glare at me like I'd affronted her.
I gave her a truthful answer. "I was watching your ponytail."
She stopped dead and turned toward me, grabbing my forearm to halt me. "Look, if you invited me just to make fun of me, then I can turn around and go home right now."
"That's not why I invited you, and I wasn't making fun of you." Obviously, she was feeling more sensitive than I'd realized.
She started to jog again, so I did too. "Then why are you watching my ponytail?" she asked cautiously.
"It looks so jovial the way it bounces," I answered sincerely.
"Edward, you are one of the oddest people I have ever met." Her tone rang with disbelief. Maybe our conversation at the library yesterday had bothered her more than she let on. At the very least, she doubted my ability to be truthful with her for some reason.
"Would you rather I lie about what I was doing?" I asked.
"No, I'd rather the things you do and say made sense to me."
"They make sense to me." Though unpretentious in its intent, it was an unpersuasive argument.
She huffed in frustration. "That's my point. It's bad enough that I have to figure out how a guy thinks if I want to be your friend. On top of that, I have to somehow understand how you think, which is, by some strange twist of fate, even more bizarre than the average male."
"I disagree. You don't need to understand me to be my friend. I certainly don't understand you."
"You don't know women at all, Edward. We don't want to feel like a friend is making fun of us, and if we can't follow your thought process, we will never understand the difference between good natured teasing and meanness."
"I wouldn't be considered a friend if I was intentionally being mean," I pointed out. "And I fully admit that I don't understand women. Why do you think I asked for your help yesterday?"
"To get a piece of ass," she accused, snickering. "You are male, after all."
"If it were only about sex, don't you think I would have tried a more direct approach?" As logical as my argument was, I had to work not to sound put off by her platitude.
"Maybe you thought you could hook me with your impressive brain power?" she suggested sarcastically.
"I wasn't trying to hook you." I rolled my eyes at her to reinforce the absurdity of her conjecture. "I was asking for your assistance. And I wasn't the only one who stood to 'get a piece of ass,' as you so eloquently put it."
With a sideways glance in my direction, she clarified, "Okay, you were the only one looking for a piece of ass then."
I knew exchanging cheap shots with her was not going to help my case. As it was, her attitude was defensive and negative, not exactly the easiest frame of mind to argue her out of. Discouragement was creeping up on me. "I was looking to gain understanding in an area I know very little about, an area that is your expertise."
"Sex is not an area of expertise for me," she said curtly, her voice coming out in panting wheezes.
"Not sex, but rather the opposite sex, as in women." Frustration evident in my voice, I tried to explain why I thought she could help me. "I am not good at understanding emotion, and women are essentially emotional creatures, are they not?"
"Not entirely. We have brains, and occasionally we even use them."
"Why are you being so sarcastic, Bella? I'm not putting women down. I'm asking a woman for her opinion and input."
The pace of our run was increasing with the intensity of our conversation. Bella was having trouble talking through her ragged breathing.
"No, you're not. You're trying to drag me into the middle of something because of some comment I made to you when I was drugged. You're twisting something that should be a natural extension of two people's feelings into an extracurricular activity." It seemed like she was hiding something behind the edge in her voice, maybe transferring hurt feelings from a different situation or testing me to ferret out my intentions. She'd been so calm at the library when I first brought it up. Something had drastically changed her outlook.
"So you're not interested in sex then?" I asked, wondering why she was angry. I didn't dare ask, for fear it would only make her angrier.
"I'm not interested in sex for the sake of sex." She glared at me with an indignant expression.
"This would be sex for the sake of learning, if it even got that far. I think we both agree that we don't know exactly what we're capable of." My voice was quiet and reserved as I gave her a gentle reminder that I wanted to start simply and move slowly.
Like she hadn't heard me, she barked another gibe. "If you want to learn about sex, you should watch porn. I hear that's what most boys your age do."
Her comment was as tasteless as it was insulting, and I couldn't hold back my anger. "That's what sex is to you? A woman screaming to be fucked harder while a man penetrates every hole on her body and then comes on her face? That's not emotional, that's borderline abusive!"
Her voice was strained and quiet, but even my anger wasn't enough to stop her from making another assumption. "That's not what sex is to me, but I'd bet most guys would love to do a woman that way."
"I may not want the emotional entanglements, Bella, but I certainly don't want that. That sort of sexual experience would give me no pleasure whatsoever."
The pace had become too much. Bella stopped running and bent forward, resting her hands on her knees to support her upper body while she caught her breath.
"I thought I understood you, Edward, but I give up. You don't want emotional sex, and you don't want fucking. I don't have a clue what you're after with this crazy experiment."
I tried to bury my frustration. At least she understood what I didn't want. Now, I had to make her see what I hoped to gain. "I want exactly what I tried to explain, to explore sex within the bounds of a trusting and understanding union, with no emotional attachments to complicate matters."
"Why?" she demanded between breaths. "How can what you're after be much more than glorified masturbation?"
"I can't answer that without experience," I told her honestly. "I suspect there is more to sex than orgasm, or no one would partake in it when masturbation is so much more convenient."
"Why not just pay a prostitute then, for the sake of science, of course?" I couldn't determine if her question was sarcastic or serious, and her expression gave nothing away. She waited silently for my reply, her deep brown eyes unrelenting. I decided to take her seriously.
I sidestepped her question a little, knowing I couldn't be completely honest about the thoughts in my head without hurting her. That was the last thing I wanted. Instead, I concentrated on what I knew to be true. "I'm fairly sure that performance is dependant on a stress-free environment, and you know I'm not socially comfortable around most people. I can't do this with someone I don't trust."
"So you need me?" she asked.
"In a matter of speaking, yes."
"For sex?" Her qualification made me squirm. Even I understood how crazy it sounded when I heard her speak the words.
"I need a friend, someone who understands me and is willing to take a chance on me." I was uncomfortable admitting this aloud, as if it somehow exposed that her kiss made me feel something, but some part of my sentiment hit home with Bella. The disbelief in her expression melted away.
"The way you took a chance on me," she said quietly.
I didn't follow her logic. "What do you mean?"
Her eyes shifted to her feet, her voice shameful. "With Mike."
What I was proposing had nothing to do with Mike. I certainly didn't want her shame to play any part in our interactions, especially since she'd done nothing to be ashamed of in the first place. "I helped someone who was being taken advantage of, which isn't the same thing. That's not what this is about, Bella. You don't owe me this as payback. If you're in because you want to try, that's one thing. If you're only considering this out of some misplaced sense of duty, then rethink it. It's going to be a big enough challenge with both of us as willing participants. Antipathy will make it an albatross."
Bella didn't look up at me or respond in any way. The dead air effectively put an end to our conversation. I didn't know what else to say or how to smooth things over. Bella kicked at the ground with her toe and shifted from foot to foot, making it clear with her body language that she was uncomfortable. I finally asked her if she wanted to turn around and head home.
As we ran in silence, I tried to read her expression, but the thoughts behind it were a mystery to me. It should have been simple to ask her to tell me, but it wasn't. I was worried I'd pushed too far and asked too much. This was so much more complicated than I wanted it to be.
Bella stopped beside her truck once we reached my house. I stopped too, still unsure about what to say. I watched as she fiddled with her keys, futilely willing the right words to come to me.
"I guess I'll see you at school," she said as she unlocked her truck.
I felt a rush of panic. Our unfinished conversation had left things between us kind of raw. I didn't want her to leave until we'd resolved the discomfort. "Would you like to come in? I know you don't like the cold. I could make us some hot chocolate."
"I think it's better if I go." She didn't seem sad or upset or even angry any longer. I absently wondered if she knew how confident she sounded, like she was sure that leaving was the right thing for her to do. Maybe it was.
"I don't want you to go," I told her honestly. "Not with things as they are; not yet anyway."
"Things as they are?" she asked quietly, like she had no clue what I was referring to.
"You're angry with me, and I don't want to you to leave with so much tension between us."
"You're allowed to have your own opinions, Edward, and they're not always going to mesh with mine." She smiled softly at me. Her logic was spot on, but it did nothing to relieve me of the urgency I was feeling.
"I know, but I've hurt your feelings, and that was the last thing I wanted to do. Please give me a chance to make it up to you." As I spoke, I tried to work out in my brain why it was so important to stop her from going home. The desire seemed too intense to be due to our disagreement, her reluctance in regard to the experiment, or any resulting rift between us. I decided it was a result of all three.
"Okay, one drink."
Though her agreement was reluctant, relief washed over me. I showed her in and took her jacket, suggesting she take a seat in the living room. Instead, she followed me into the kitchen and settled herself on one of the stools at the island while I busied myself with making hot chocolate. While I waited for the kettle to boil, I put some cookies out on a plate and set it on the counter in front of Bella. She watched me shyly as I moved about the kitchen, putting things away and cleaning up after myself. I would have paid someone hard cash to know what she was thinking.
"Be careful, it's hot," I warned, putting two steaming mugs down on the counter and sitting on the stool beside her. She smiled at me in thankful understanding. Carefully bringing the mug to her mouth, she blew on the top of the liquid. The action brought an unfamiliar tightening in my chest that made no sense to me, only serving to make me feel more self-conscious.
"Thanks. This is good. You seem to know your way around the kitchen pretty well." Her hands cupped her drink, absorbing the warmth the hot liquid transferred to the mug.
"My mother taught me. She wanted me to be able to take care of myself when she was away." The kitchen was one place my mother and I always seemed to connect. The food, the preparation, even the clean up was a part of our comfortable routine. We worked in quiet harmony when we cooked, a synergy we found in few other places apart from music.
"Is she away a lot?" Bella asked quietly. As if she were studying her surroundings, her gaze drifted around the kitchen, but it was obvious to me that she was trying to disguise her curiosity, being purposefully cautious in case the subject was a touchy one for me. It wasn't.
"Yes. She's touring right now. She's a pianist with the Seattle Symphony Orchestra." I smiled warmly. My mother's musical accomplishments were something I was very proud of.
"Like mother, like son, I suppose?" Her tentative assumption made me realize she did not remember our prior conversation about this topic.
"I'm not nearly as talented as she is," I answered honestly. A gift like my mother's was rare, and while I was blessed with ability, I did not possess the consuming passion for music that she did.
"I wondered if you played when I saw the piano in the living room. You've got such long fingers." She'd made the same observation in the parking lot the night she'd been drugged. I bit my lip to keep from chuckling.
Bella moved her hand beside mine. It was tiny in contrast - feminine, delicate and overwhelmingly appealing. The force of the feeling inundated me.
"Your hand looks so petite next to mine," I mumbled. I didn't understand my reaction, to a hand of all things. Could she hear my marvel in my voice, if that was even the right word to describe the feeling pulsing through me?
"It's why I can't play. Stubby fingers trip on the keys." Her matter-of-fact tone snapped me out of my head.
"That's nonsense. Your piano teacher didn't tell you that, did she?"
"No, my mother." I had come to expect the hint of sadness in her tone and expression when the subject of her mother came up, but I still hated it. A mother was supposed to be nurturing, not a source of negative emotion.
"Your mother was wrong. You just need the right technique to compensate."
"Really?" Her eyes were wide and surprised. It bothered me that she'd been told she wasn't capable of something.
"Sure, let me show you." Without thinking, I grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the living room. It wasn't until I let go of her to pull out the piano bench, that I realized I had been holding her hand. It had been entirely comfortable. I dare say it was even natural, or at least what I assumed natural should feel like. This surprised me. I wasn't expecting it to be so easy. I offered the bench to Bella and waited for her to sit down.
I sat down beside her, letting my hands rest on the keyboard. "You have to remember that playing the piano is a physical experience. You don't just use your fingers. Posture is so important - a straight back and loose, low, relaxed shoulders." I rolled my shoulders back to emphasize my point. "Where you sit is important too. If you sit too close to the keys, you restrict your movement, and if you sit too far away, you won't be able to use your body weight to influence your playing. Right now, you're too far away, but this is perfect for me. See how my forearms are almost horizontal? That's what you want, or a slight slope towards your hands is fine too."
Bella nodded and smiled. She was paying very close attention to me, and it pleased me that she was so interested.
"Next is your hands, and I suspect this may be where your teacher failed you. Just because your hands are small, doesn't mean you can't play effectively. You just have to remember that all of your fingers are a different size and shape, so you have to position them properly to make each work equally well. Put your hands on the keyboard."
"You want me to play?" she asked uneasily, casting a fearful glance in my direction.
"No, I just want to see how you hold your hands." I smiled encouragingly.
She spread her fingers across the keys and looked up at me timidly. "I haven't played in a long time."
"The way you're holding your fingers right now, with your knuckles sloping down toward your pinky fingers, doesn't leave your smaller, weaker fingers room to play. Your knuckles need to be level and your fingers slightly rounded, almost like your hand is cupped." She adjusted her hands and looked for my approval. "That's right," I praised. "You just need to relax your wrists. They should be a tiny bit lower than your hands." I moved my hands to her wrists and adjusted their position. I tried very hard not to react to the tingling in my fingertips where they met her skin.
"I guess I'm out of practice," she mumbled, sounding embarrassed. She needn't be. Given what her mother led her to believe about her skills, it was a wonder that she was still interested in the piano.
"You're doing fine," I said supportively. "You just need some time for it to come back to you."
She looked down at the keys. Her voice was quiet and unsure. "Would you play for me?"
"What would you like to hear?" I was curious if she had a favorite composer or piece. I could probably play it if she did.
"Anything. You choose."
My fingers drifted over the keys with ease, translating the notes my mind knew by heart. It was my mother's favorite song, and I hoped that Bella might like it too. She watched my hands, paying careful attention to the way they moved. She was smiling by the time the music came to a close.
"That was beautiful, so much better than anything I've ever attempted."
"You can thank my mother," I told her. "It's her favorite."
"If I ever meet her, I will." Bella's cheeks reddened slightly. It made me excessively curious to know what she was thinking.
"I think she'd like to meet you," I confided. Bella was exactly the sort of friend my mother would want for me. Beyond her obvious character strengths, Bella's kindness and goodness would bring her into my mother's good graces within minutes.
The idea made Bella blush even more profusely. She looked up at me through her lashes. "Is she gone all weekend?"
"My mother?" I asked, momentarily distracted by her gaze. "She'll be home on Monday for a few days."
"She lets you stay home alone while she's gone?"
"For the most part." Technically, I wasn't by myself. "My neighbors Carmen and Eleazar look in on me while my mother is away."
"So you're free tomorrow?" she clarified, wrapping the hair of her ponytail around her hand absent-mindedly.
"Yes, why?" I couldn't connect anything, not her blush or her questions. My mind spun in circles trying to figure out what she was getting at.
"I was hoping we could get together. We should talk about your experiment if we're going to make a go of it. Trying is all I can promise, at least until we talk. Are you in?" She stared at me, waiting for me to answer, her expression a cross between sincerity and warmth.
"Definitely," I agreed. After the disastrous conversation during our run, I was sure the experiment was dead in the water. Though she hadn't entirely agreed to take part, the fact that she was willing to discuss it at all left me feeling hopeful.
She smiled and got to her feet. "I'll bring dinner. Say about six?"
"Sounds good." Better than good, it sounded like the opportunity I'd been hoping for. As I watched her drive away, it dawned on me that tomorrow couldn't get here fast enough.
A/N: So where do you think it's going from here? Click the review button and let me know!