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it had become oddly endearing. Finally, in a blinding flash of intuition, she had seen it
for what it was.
It was his way of keeping some imagined evil inside of him under control.
Edward Cullen was all about control; Bella Swan favored impulse.
She had a feeling that she was about to see some long-forgotten science lesson put
into action something along the lines of immovable object meeting an irresistible
force. Bella fully intended to be that irresistible force. What had started out as a
vague inclination had become a burning desire to have an impact on Edward's life.
She hadn't been prepared for the full experience of looking into Edward Cullen's eyes
for the first time. The only pictures she had seen of him were old and grainy and in
black and white for the most part old newspaper photographs taken of a boy as he
was led from a house of death.
That boy had been alarmingly pale; his hair a shock of darkish color on top of his
head, one eye swollen shut, and splatters and splashes of blood covering him. Only
some of the blood had been his own. His hands had been dark with the stuff, like
macabre gloves or some over-the-top Halloween costume.
But it had been April and the blood had been real.
For some reason, she had still expected to see that boy, though intellectually she
knew that wasn't how things happened. From a distance, the shock hadn't been so
great. Edward Masen, now Edward Cullen, was tall and slim, with long elegant fingers
and a jaw line that would make Brat Pitt weep with envy. His brows had been dark
wings above eyes she couldn't quite see from her distant vantage point.
Then she had knocked on his door and he had opened it and it had been those eyes
that had been her downfall.
Bright green and beautiful, but so infinitely sad.
She had wanted to hug him close right then and there, but instead her mouth had
gotten her into trouble, as so often happened. She had blurted out the hateful words
and almost ruined everything.
Even she had been shocked by what came out of her mouth, and she had had a
lifetime of getting used to her own tactlessness. Poor Edward had been dazzled all
right, but not in a good way.
Still, they had managed to reconnect, though she knew it was with great reluctance
on his part. How could she explain to him that the moment she had seen him that a
sense of inevitable destiny had settled upon her and that it had never left? How could
she tell him that she knew they would end up being more to each other than either of
them could guess right now?
She wasn't sure he was her soul mate or anything, but she knew without any doubt
that he would be instrumental in determining the path her life took from this
moment on. Some things were meant to be. At times, destiny was cruel. On other
occasions, however, it gave generously and freely and joyously.
Her mother's death had convinced Bella Swan that everyone had a fate. She knew that
no one could avoid their fate. You could make choices and decisions all day long, but
in the end, you were subject to the vagaries of fate and there was nothing to be done
about it. Whether it was written in the stars or authored by a higher power, she did
not know. What she did know was that every step, promise, and decision a person
made merely carried them along to their destiny.
Edward Cullen, whether he knew it or not, was her fate. And she, in a way she could
not yet know, was his. Would it end up being a lifelong friendship that saw each other
through love and loss and finally ended up as two old people, reminiscing about the
old days? Would they be closer than twins who had shared a womb and known each
other ever since life first sparked? Would it be romance a love affair that changed
their lives and hearts forever? She didn't know, she only knew that it was going to
happen. There would be no evading or ignoring it. It simply was.
She laughed and leaned against the door but the laughter soon turned into sobs. She
sank to the floor and wished he was there with her so that she could hold him close
and comfort him in her sorrow. She didn't fight the tears; in fact she sometimes
welcomed them. They were cathartic and freeing; they strengthened her in a way she
could not explain.
Edward had been shocked when tears slipped down his pale cheeks. She had seen it
in his face when his fingers touched the dampness on his face. It was the face of a man
stumbling upon an oasis in the desert, of being given a pardon as he mounted the
scaffold steps. Edward was a man who needed a good cry, she decided. He needed to
free that iron control he had cultivated for so long. He needed...her.
He needed her recklessness and impulsivity and carefree spirit. And she, somehow,
needed him too. She needed his solid, reassuring presence. She craved his quiet,
velvet voice and the bright green of his sad eyes. But most of all, she wanted to see
that loving heart, that amazing, courageous spirit she sensed in him set free.
What was it about that beautiful, broken man that called out to her?
It went far beyond the grim history they shared, it went further than her acceptance
of whatever destiny brought her way. There was something about him that called out
to an essential, elemental part of her; she longed to heal and comfort him. She wanted
to make him whole; she wanted him to see the man she saw when she looked at him.
She wanted him to realize that he was his mother's son.
~ * ~
CHAPTER 6
"In everyone's life, at some time, our inner fire goes out. It is then burst into flame by an
encounter with another human being. We should all be thankful for those people who
rekindle the inner spirit." ~Albert Schweitzer
~Bad Blood~
How many times had he had people from the office over for a football game? He
supposed he could come up with a number that would be close, but the whole point
was that he shouldn't be nervous about today's little get together. He had played host
almost countless times. He had kept the beer flowing, been able to spout stats about
the teams that were both correct and insightful. He had paid enough attention to
those who didn't really care about the game but just wanted to be around others. He
had learned to give high-fives when "his" team did something good and to moan and
bitch with the rest of them when they failed.
In other words, Edward Cullen wore his mask well. He wore it so well that he usually
forgot it was a mask.
But today...Well, today was different, wasn't it? Today, Isabella Swan would be here in
his house. Isabella Swan, the woman who had gotten a glimpse behind the mask and,
for some unknowable reason, had decided that she could still abide his company.
What was it about her that was capable of such grace and forgiveness?
Then the doorbell rang and Edward had no more time to ponder the mysteries of
Isabella. He had the chips and dip out, the beer and sodas were ready, and the
television was already on. He had wings being kept warm in the oven and plenty of
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