Chapter 1: If you
Twist and Turn Away
Thanksgiving. I always hated this holiday. Who the hell were
we thanking and for what? It seemed like the height of hypocrisy to celebrate a
moment in time when Pilgrims were saved by the Native Americans, only to go on
to steal all their saviors’ land and possessions. That more than two centuries
later we still got together every year to commemorate this ridiculous event
simply boggled my mind.
And yeah, sure, I knew some people just ignored the Pilgrims
and used the holiday to express their general thanks for the good things in
their lives, but I didn't buy any of that bullshit either. What the fuck did I
have to be thankful for? Living with my asshole father and my sweet doormat of
a mother, perpetually falling short of expectations no matter what I did,
always having to listen to what more I should be doing to be a proper Cullen, never
having a moment of peace unless either he or I was away from home... No, as far
as I was concerned, I had nothing to celebrate on this particular holiday.
Except this year. This year there was something. There was
leaving Seattle
and the four hour drive with Jasper back to Forks, my fucking kingdom. There
was hanging out with all the guys the Friday after Thanksgiving. There was
falling back into the position I had created for myself, with everyone at my
heels. So different than Seattle.
So much more familiar and comforting. I was the undisputed ruler here. These
fucking dipshits I went to school with still thought I was the center of the
universe and they were still scared shitless that I might not let them be in my
entourage. I couldn't believe it when all the e-mails started coming in last
week from each guy. They were about as subtle as a pile of bricks, each begging
to be included in my Friday plans. Yeah, this year Thanksgiving in Forks was
something to look forward to.
Unfortunately, the drive down turned out to be less
enjoyable than I'd wanted it to be. Jasper had a big paper due right before we
had to leave and he'd stayed up nights getting it done, which left him too
exhausted to be very talkative. Plus there was still a bit of tension between
us over his New Year's plans. I thought I'd mostly convinced him that I was
over the whole thing, but he was just too fucking attuned to my moods for me to
be able to fool him completely. Truth was, I was hoping we would have so much
fun hanging out together with the guys that he would change his mind and come
back to Seattle
early, though deep down inside I knew that wasn't going to happen. Knowing that
I wasn't able to convince him to change his plans made me feel like such a
failure. Thank God my father didn't know about any of this -he would never let
me live this down. I would forever hear about what a fucking disappointment I
was and how I couldn't possibly have been his kid since no Cullen would ever
lose control of someone the way I lost control of Jasper. Not that I gave a
shit what my father thought about me anymore. I just didn't want to hear it.
Thursday morning I stayed in bed as long as possible. As
ever, the more time I could spend in my room by myself without attracting any
kind of attention, the less time I had to spend interacting with my parents. By
11:00 a.m., however, I knew
they would start getting suspicious, so I reluctantly jumped into the shower,
got dressed and headed downstairs to grab a light breakfast. My mother went as
crazy cooking for the three of us on Thanksgiving as other people did to feed
their entire extended families, so it was best not to overindulge at breakfast.
"Good morning, Darling," Mom said when she saw me
walk into the kitchen. "Did you sleep well?"
I kissed the cheek she presented and gave her a light hug.
There were many things about my mother that drove me crazy, but I loved her and
knew that she loved me, completely and unconditionally.
"Yeah, sure," I answered, reaching in the cabinet
for a cereal bowl. "But it doesn't really feel like my bed anymore, you
know? I guess I got used to Seattle."
"Put that away," she said when she realized I
intended to eat cereal. She reached over, trying to take back the bowl.
"I'm sure you have that every morning at school. Let me fix you something
special. Would you like pancakes or waffles, or how about a nice ham &
cheese omelet?"
I moved the bowl out of her reach and smiled. "Come on,
Mom, I'm sure you have better things to think about right now than my
breakfast. You know damn well in a few hours you're going to stuff me as much
as you stuffed the Turkey,
so just let me have a little cereal this morning and save some room, OK?"
She frowned at me a little.
"Language, Edward," she said, her voice full of
disappointment. I cursed again, silently this time. Unlike my father, my mom
actually didn't expect anything unreasonable from me. I don't know how many
times she told me she just wanted me to be happy and to be a good man. In her
book, being a good man meant, in part, behaving like a gentleman, so no
cursing, at least when ladies were present. How the fuck she ever expected me
to live up to that standard with a bastard like my father around I'll never
know, but I'd always tried to keep it clean around her. Clearly, living in Seattle wasn't doing any
wonders for my self-control.
"But you do have a point, Dear. We will be having a
large dinner. So how about just a live toad in a hole? You used to love those
when you were younger."
I smiled. Mom was right. One of my favorite things to have
for breakfast when I was a kid was an over-easy egg fried inside a hollowed out
piece of toast. I introduced these to Jasper and he fell in love with them too.
It almost made me want to pick up the phone and invite him over.
"Go on," Mom said as if she could read my mind. “Give
him a call. It's no trouble."
I thought about it, but rejected the idea. "I'm sure
Jasper's mom wants him home today," I said. "But if your offer still
stands, I would love a toad."
We talked as she fixed me breakfast and continued as I ate
and she returned to her Thanksgiving meal preparations. She wasn't exactly
asking me tough questions - it was all stuff about my classes, girls, new
friends and Jasper - but I still had to do some quick thinking to respond
without giving any of the true story away.
Sure, I loved my classes. Very challenging. More work than
in high school. That, at least was the truth, though I didn't bother to tell
her that, just as in high school, I hardly bothered with all the reading.
Yes, the girls were very nice and I had gone out with a few
of them. That one was difficult to answer with a straight face. Nice was not a
quality I looked for when I hooked up with women in Seattle, unless being willing to potentially
get fucked by two men at once counted as nice these days.
Of course I made new friends and yes, they were nice boys.
Seriously, sometimes my mom acted like I was four years old. It would kill her
to know that instead of the happy and outgoing kid she thought she raised, I was
really as much of a tyrant as my father, who ruled by fear more than
popularity. I didn't need friends. I needed subjects.
And yes, living with Jasper was great! It made the
transition from high school to college so much easier. Absolutely, we were still
best friends. Everything was fantastic! The weather in Seattle may have been overcast, but my life
was all fucking sunshine, all the time!
As I placed my breakfast dishes in the dishwasher, I thought
about how pathetic it was that my mom actually believed all my lies the same
way she seemed to lap up all of my father's bullshit. As soon as I thought of
him I realized that I hadn't actually seen him, which was unusual. Normally his
asshole persona expanded to fill every available bit of space, the same way
nature filled a vacuum.
"Where's Dad?" I asked casually, needing to know
and yet dreading the answer.
"He had an emergency consultation this morning,"
she answered easily, "he'll be back as soon as he can."
I couldn't stop the groan from escaping my lips. Did she
really believe the lies or was she just playing dumb for my benefit, because
she had no clue I knew exactly what was going on? I was sure Dad was
consulting, all right. Or, to be more accurate, his dick was consulting some
slut's holes until he was so spent he couldn't get it up anymore. I wondered
who it was this time? There were several nurses on staff at the Forks hospital
who were young, pretty and single, and had nothing better to do on Thanksgiving
morning than let my father deposit his jizz wherever he fucking pleased. It was
probably one of them, though they certainly weren't the only candidates. Hell,
I wouldn't have put it past him to be fucking Jessica or Lauren or both, now
that they were high school graduates.
"I know you miss him, Dear," Mom said, mistaking
my groan for disappointment, "but he'll be back in plenty of time for
dinner, I'm sure. And the two of you will have time to talk after dinner as I
clean up."
Oh, great! Something to really fucking dread on this trip.
Uninterrupted time with my father was just about as welcome as a root canal
without Novocain. He would ask most of the same questions as my mother, or
worse, and he would never be satisfied with the superficial answers I gave her.
Oh no, the fucker would probe until he found a weakness, a crack he could pry
open and bust my balls about. As much as I hated the fact that he was cheating
on my mother, I was glad he was fucking someone this morning. It would give me
time to firm up my story and it just might mellow him up enough to tone down
his vitriol when he inevitably found something I did to be displeased about.
I asked Mom if there was anything I could do to help but,
like every year, she declined, telling me to go relax instead. This too had
become our family tradition. Once, when I was eleven, Mom actually took me up
on my offer and allowed me to stay with her, peeling vegetables and doing other
small tasks. That year Dad had been gone all morning too, though as pissed as
he was when he came back, it apparently had been a real medical emergency. When
he came home and walked into the kitchen to find me trying to whip eggs for the
meringue, he went ballistic.
"What the fuck is going on here?" he shouted.
"What the hell are you doing, Esme? Your fucking job, the only thing you
really need to do, is to turn my son into a man, not some Goddamn fag. If you
can't handle the cooking yourself, then either scale back or hire someone else
to help you - it's not like we can't afford it. But don't fucking turn my damn
son into some swishy kitchen helper. What's next, embroidery and
knitting?"
I watched helplessly as Mom's eyes filled with tears and
then overflowed, rivulets of saline flowing down her cheeks along with mascara.
She didn't try to defend herself, probably knowing from past experience that it
would only make things worse, especially when Dad was in a mood like this. I
started feeling angry, like I really needed to do something to help her.
"It wasn't her fault, Dad," I said. "I asked
to help."
He turned on me with those cold green eyes.
"What are you saying, Edward?" He asked, his tone
icy. "Are you trying to tell me that you want to be a fag?"
At just eleven years old, I only had a vague idea of what a
fag was. It seemed like the term applied to a man who dressed really strangely,
almost like a girl, and spoke like one, too. I definitely did not want to be
that.
"No," I shook my head, not understanding in the
least what being a fag had to do with me helping with the Thanksgiving meal.
"But I just wanted to help."
"Help? You wanted to help? And you think that makes it
better?" He turned to my mother again.
"Do you see what you're doing to this boy? I swear,
Esme, you'd better get with the fucking program or else you know damn well
what's gonna happen. I will not have my son raised to be a helper."
Mom burst into tears again and I looked back and forth
between them, trying to make sense of what I was hearing. It was clear that my
father was threatening my mother with something, but I had no idea what the
threat was.
"And let me tell you something, you little
bastard," Dad had turned back to me and he was absolutely fuming.
"You better pay attention, because this is a lesson I thought I taught you
long ago. There are two kinds of people in the world - those who serve and
those who are served. And I sure as hell am not raising you to be a servant.
Having money and influence means we can hire people to serve us or, better yet,
get them to do things for us for free. Your grandfather apparently didn't know
how to teach your mother that lesson, or he gave that fucking sister of his too
much leeway when she was raising her, but I'll be damned if I'm going to stand
by while she passes on all of her bad habits to you."
"But Jasper helps his mother with dinner," I protested.
"Jasper's step-father is a public servant," Dad
said this with enough contempt to make someone believe Jerry pan-strained city
sewage for a living. "He works for me and you. His job is to serve our
needs. Fortunately for him, he caught on to this pretty quickly and has been
playing along nicely. I'm sure his son's job someday will be to serve someone
as well, so he might as well learn by doing your bidding. I just hope you're
treating him like I've taught you and not letting him think he's your equal or
anything stupid like that."
I nodded mutely, because I had been treating Jasper exactly
how my dad taught me to, but somehow that day it felt so very wrong.
I was still holding the bowl of egg whites and the mixer.
Dad walked up to me and ripped both out of my hand, placing them on the
counter. He grasped my shoulders tightly and leaned down to look into my eyes,
his drawn, angry face only inches away from mine.
"You were born to lead, so act like a fucking leader.
Never embarrass me again by acting like a servant, even within the walls of
this house. Step up and act like a Cullen instead of the fucking disappointment
you've always been."
He let go of me, storming out of the kitchen without another
word. I looked over at my mother, who was still crying silently. I walked up to
her and hugged her, wishing there was something more I could do. She hugged me
back for a brief moment, and then pushed me away.
"It's all right, Darling," she said, trying to
smile through her tears. "I can finish the rest by myself. Why don't you
go watch some TV, all right?"
I hesitated, wanting to protest.
"Go, now, Dear, before your father comes back. We don't
want to make him any angrier than he already is. He obviously had a rough
day."
Rough day? A fucking understatement of the century. My
father had more rough days than he had smooth days, but she never said a bad
word about him and always apologized for him. There were days when I hated her
for being so weak, but even when I hated her she was still my mother and I
loved her more.
We never did have lemon meringue pie that year. And even
though, out of my fucking pride and pigheadedness, every year I asked her if
she needed my help, she never accepted that offer again. This was the first
year I was really grateful.
I planted myself in front of the television, but didn't
watch a wink. I spent the rest of the time until dinner trying to anticipate my
father's questions and coming up with acceptable answers. Acceptable to him,
anyway. By the time he came home, half hour before dinner, I was as ready for
him as I'd ever be.
Of course, as was typical with my father, I'd miscalculated.
It wasn't my fault, really. There was never any way to anticipate what the
jag-off would do or what mood he'd be in. This year, whoever he'd been with
must have made him very happy, because at dinner he was as jovial as fucking
Santa Clause. Oh, sure, he gave me shit again for going to UW, but even that
seemed almost half-hearted. It was a minor miracle at the Cullen house, but we
actually managed to get through a holiday dinner without a single shouting
match and without my mother breaking into tears. Mom and I exchanged a look as
she was serving pie, and I could see she was as surprised as I was by this turn
of events, and just as relieved.
After dinner Mom busied herself with the clean-up while Dad
asked if I wanted to play pool. I steeled myself again for the questions I
hadn't had to answer at dinner, but, again, Dad surprised me. For the most part
we made small talk while playing, something I hadn't actually realized we were
capable of doing. After a couple of games he commented on how my playing has
improved and that he hoped my new skills were helping me get laid. I shrugged
and told him that I'd never had problems in that department, so I didn't need
the new pool skills to land girls. I breathed a sigh of relief when he didn't
press for details of my Seattle
sex life. I also didn't tell him that I used my new pool skills to earn quite a
bit extra cash that I carefully stashed away for a rainy day, just in case I
ever needed money for something I didn't want him to know about. I hated being
financially dependent on him for everything, hated that he had me by the balls
and could cut off my support any moment if I displeased him. The pool winnings
were small potatoes, not nearly enough to give me the true independence I
craved, but still enough to give me the sense of a small victory. For now that
would have to do.
Friday morning I pretended to sleep in again. I was getting
together with Jasper and the guys at noon,
and there just wasn't any reason to get out of bed early. Dad wasn't around
again when I got up, but this time I didn't even bother asking about him. It
really didn't matter to me, and I would get less angry if I didn't actually
know what he was doing or hear the excuse he gave Mom.
She fixed me breakfast before returning to re-fashioning the
leftover turkey into other fabulous dishes. As much as Dad complained about Mom
doing too much manual labor for a Chief of Staff's wife, even he had to admit
she was an excellent cook. In fact, she truly excelled at all the domestic
stuff Dad contemptuously referred to as 'women's work,' and if she had been
anyone else, no doubt he would have been singing her praises. As it was, he just
complained that Mom paid more attention to housework than she did to him. I was
sure that was exactly the excuse he used in his head to justify the cheating,
though I also knew damn well that the cheating started well before he could
have ever known how much time Mom would ever spend taking care of their house,
or even if they would have a house together, for that matter.
I was equally sure that Mom spent so much time taking care
of me and the house to stay the hell away from him. Son-of-a-bitch that he was,
constantly berating and belittling her, who could blame her for not wanting to
be around him? The only thing I blamed her for was not leaving him all these
years, because Mom was still beautiful and I was sure she could easily have
found another man to properly love and appreciate her. I suspected she stayed
for me, recalling that veiled threat I heard when I was eleven. But I couldn't
imagine why she let him intimidate her like that. If she'd left, I would have
gone with her, no questions asked. Maybe I should have told her that long ago
or even now? But as always, I wussed out, because telling Mom to leave Dad
would mean that I'd have to acknowledge all the things she didn't know I knew,
and that would have been too fucking painful for the both of us. So I just ate
my breakfast and we talked about what we would be doing that day and everything
was the same as it ever was.
A few minutes before noon
I drove over to Jasper's house to pick him up. There was a rare bit of sunshine
out when he emerged from his house and it made him look all golden and angelic.
I felt a tightening in the pit of my stomach when I realized how much I'd
missed him over the day and a half we were apart. Which was ridiculous, really,
thirty six hours being a pretty fucking short period of time. And yet his smile
brought out my smile, and for the first time since I dropped him off Wednesday
night, I actually felt happy.
We met up with Tyler, Eric, and the rest of the guys and
decided to go into Port Angeles
for the day. Seemed we had all spent too much time cooped up with our
respective families Thursday, and we were all ready to spend the day out, away
from Forks. In Port Angeles
we first went to see a movie. I chose one of those college guy comedies, one
that seemed to be made for guys our age, filled with stupid, gross jokes and
dumb, pretty girls. The guys seemed to be loving it and I acted like I did as
well, but I noticed Jasper seemed less than enthusiastic, and I wished I had
remembered to select a movie more to his liking. I'd already forgotten that
part of the goal for this weekend was to show him how much fun he could have
with me, and here I was, falling behind right out of the gate. I was catering
to these sophomoric morons, who would have been thrilled to see anything in my
company, instead of taking care of the one person whose opinion actually
mattered. Why couldn't I stop being such a fuck up? Caring what he thought was
my first mistake, and not doing things to make sure his thoughts were good just
compounded the problem.
After the movie we roved the retail areas of Port Angeles, flirting
with the countless high school and college girls who were out doing their
Christmas shopping. I could tell the rest of the guys really wanted to hook up
with some of them and would have been happy to hang out with girls all
afternoon. We even ran across a gaggle large enough for each of us to have our
pick, with a couple to spare, and the excitement in the guys' eyes at the
prospect of all of us spending the rest of the day together was clear, but I
saw the discomfort on Jasper's face and knew this would only make him more
miserable than he already was. He never liked crowds or strangers, and inviting
a hoard of strange girls to keep us company was sure to make him withdraw into
that fucking shell he kept inside just for such occasions. I had seen it
countless times. Outwardly he would be normal. He would wear a vacant
expression most of the time, but would smile a little when appropriate. He
would participate in conversation, throwing in a comment or two, but it would
be on the periphery and the participation would be as infrequent as he could
possibly make it. I don't think he realized I even knew he was doing it. I
recognized it, because I had been doing the same thing for years. In fact, the first
time I saw him behave this way, I thought he was imitating me. And maybe
subconsciously he was. I would never know. Suffice it to say I could recognize
it well and, while there had been many occasions where I appreciated him doing
this for me or for the rest of the group, I didn't want him to have to do it
today. So I picked up a couple of the girls' phone numbers, just in case, then
decreed that the day was always intended to be all about male bonding and
shooed the girls away.
Everyone except Jasper and I seemed disappointed, but the
guys soon recovered as we headed for the bowling alley. I was actually
surprised at how simultaneously pissed off and relieved I was. As the girls
were leaving I saw one pretty, petite brunette with long, French-braided hair
and a cute face hiding behind too large of a pair of glasses, talking shyly
with Jasper and handing him a piece of paper with what I could only assume was
her phone number. His reply to her was too quiet for me to hear from where I
was standing, but it made her giggle softly and it made him chuckle, and I knew
that this time the smile gracing his face was genuine. I felt it then, the need
to growl a warning and defend my territory. It took all the self-restraint I
had not to walk over and sling an arm over his shoulder or do something else to
show this snip of a girl that he was mine and to keep her claws to herself. But
I realized how bizarre that kind of behavior would look to everyone else and
held back, gritting my teeth and telling myself that I had nothing to fear from
this little mouse. There were larger predators out there after my Jasper, and I
needed to focus on keeping him away from them. Still, I was glad I put an end
to all the girl/boy bonding, and I was glad to know Jasper had no more free time
for the rest of the weekend. Whoever this chick was and whatever she wanted, I
didn't need her in our lives, complicating things even further.
We stayed at the bowling alley all afternoon, settling in at
a couple of adjoining lanes and playing game after game in different team
configurations as we caught up on what everyone had been doing since
graduation. I actually found bowling therapeutic, some of my frustrations
lifting each time one of my balls crashed into the waiting pins. There was
something satisfying about the rumble of the ball flying down the lane and then
the violent crash as it came into contact with the pins. By the end of the
first game I found my stride and was pretty consistently throwing mostly spares
and strikes, my great scores further improving my mood.
But whatever benefit I got from bowling, it was erased by
having to spend the day with the laughing pack of hyenas that used to be my
high school groupies. By the end of Friday evening I could have killed every
one of these fucking idiots, bare handed, tearing them to pieces. I was so sick
of the sucking up and the jokes and the stupidity of the conversation. We went
out to dinner and all I wanted to do was to shove the food down their fucking
throats so we could get the meal over with and Jasper and I could finally be
alone. Instead I sat in that booth, leaning back into the corner, my perfect
"I dare you to say something to impress me" game face on, and
pretended to listen to more stupid jokes and stories. Jasper sat by me, but too
far to touch. Too far even to really feel his body heat. I'd deliberately
angled my body so that I could watch him without having to shift my head, and
from time to time I would glance back and be struck all over again by that
amazing profile, the laughing eyes, and the smiling, slightly parted lips. I
didn't know what the fuck was happening to me, but I knew I would never tire of
looking at him. And when, on occasion, he would glance in my direction and our
eyes would meet, it was all I could do to keep breathing as if nothing had
happened at all, pretending that I didn't feel that electric jolt each and
every time the piercing blue irises turned to me.
After dinner was finally done and we all split up to go our
separate ways, I got the idea to take Jasper to the park where we played when
we were kids. The place held good memories for me and I knew this time of year
we would have it all to ourselves. We started off on the swings, sharing my
flask of whiskey, the liquor burning its way down as it warmed us and loosened
our inhibitions. When the flask was empty we decided to use the park, keeping
ourselves warm by spinning on the rudimentary mary-go round, sliding down the
slides and swinging from the monkey bars. All this kept us warm, but it failed
to get me what I really wanted and needed - to get my hands on Jasper. I
finally tagged him. It was a brief touch, not at all satisfying, but it was
something. I ran away, exhilarated, knowing he was following, knowing sometime
soon I would deliberately slow down and let him touch me. He caught up with me
at last and tapped me but, again, brief and light, it just wasn't enough. But
then he was running away, a gazelle to my lion, and I set off in hot pursuit,
loving the chase, wishing there was more at the end than just a simple tag.
We traded off a few times. I loved this game and everything
it represented. I wanted to catch him, to possess him, to make him completely
mine, the way he used to be when we were still living in Forks. And perversely,
I wanted to be caught, too. I wanted him to want to catch me. I wanted him to
rope me like a wild horse and break me and ride me. . . Fuck! What the hell was
I thinking? This shit had to stop now. It was one thing to check out his butt
and think about what it would be like to slip my dick inside him. It would be
the same as fucking Bella up her ass. Same body parts and all. Been there, done
that. But him riding me? No fucking way! That would be downright queer. And
yes, sure, I thought he was beautiful, sexy even, but that was just an
objective statement of fact. It didn't make me gay to acknowledge a fact or to
be turned on by someone who was so fucking hot!
I was "it" again, and this time I was not going to
be satisfied with a mere tap. I chased him, carefully corralling him to make
sure he ran closer and closer to the grass surrounding the playground. Then,
when I was certain the lawn would cushion our fall, I launched myself at him
and tackled him to the ground, both of us laughing loudly, knowing we were too
far away from anyone who might be watching or listening. He looked amazing
beneath me, all flashing eyes and a smile that suddenly wasn't quite at ease.
And I realized that I too had tensed, noticing the way gravity pressed my lower
body directly into his, listening to our collective heavy panting, watching the
way hot humid air gushed out from between his lips. I wanted so badly to kiss
those lips, to feel the softness I remembered from the last time I kissed him,
right before graduation. I wanted to shove my tongue into his mouth and feel
him moan around it.
Our eyes locked and for a second I thought maybe he wanted
the same thing. But I knew he didn't. He'd made that pretty fucking clear when
he came back from Europe. I wouldn't spoil this evening by doing something that
might cause him to want to leave, to go home. Spending time alone with him here
was more valuable than a kiss. I shifted off him and lay on the grass next to
him. I felt his hand, so close to mine, and I wanted to move my hand to hold
his, or even to just touch, but I knew I couldn't. I was determined that
nothing I did would ruin this night.
We stayed quiet for a long time. I wondered what he was
thinking about as thoughts of him and me together filled my head. Things had
been so much easier when we were still in Forks. He had been so much different
here. He wanted to spend time with me. In Forks I was the one who didn't have
time for him. I was the one who, like a supreme idiot, chose Bella's company
over his. And now, now that I finally realized that spending time with him made
me feel better than any fucking girl ever did or could, now he avoided me. He
holed himself up in that fucking library or down the hall with those damn fags.
Something changed and he needed me less and less. He was fucking slipping
through my fingers and there was nothing I could do about it! Was this what he
always wanted? Is this why he was so excited about graduation? Was he acting
all along, his only goal to get away from me once we moved away? I had to know,
but I couldn't ask him. I couldn't let him know how much this was fucking with
my head.
"Jasper?" I asked.
"Hmmm?"
"Are you happy?" That was an innocent enough
question. No implications about my fucked up thoughts there.
"What do you mean?" He asked.
Fuck! I should have known a simple question just wouldn't
work. I had to think of something better. It took a few moments, before I
finally thought of something that might work.
"I don't know. Are you happy? Before graduation you
were so excited about this new phase, leaving Forks . . . So did all that make
you happy?"
What I really wanted to ask was if he was happier now that
we were no longer together all the time, now that it wasn't even all that clear
that we were best friends anymore. But, of course, that would be admitting that
I wasn't completely in control of the situation and that something wasn't going
according to my plan. And that had been a lesson my father taught me early - no
matter what happens, never let anyone sense that you aren't completely in control
or that something did not go according to your plan.
He thought about his answer for a while - too long! Like he
was trying to make sure he didn't let me know too much. It was just another
reminder that I was losing him. Once upon a time, he would answer all the
questions I had and tell me things I hadn't even asked about in no time at all.
Once upon a time he had no secrets from me. Now it felt like the secrets were
starting to outweigh what I knew. Like that guy Greg that he was meeting for
New Year's. He'd never told me a thing about him or his friends. He wanted to
spend the holiday with them and not me and that shit hurt more than it had any
right to.
I knew what I wanted to happen this New Year's Eve, although
even I wasn't stupid enough to think that it would. But even if New Year's
wasn't everything I wanted it to be, I still thought we would be together. We'd
go to a bar or two or find some parties, get a couple of girls to come back
with us to our place, then maybe have them put on a show for us like Lauren and
Jessica did at my house while Jasper and I could jack each other off. Was it a
perfect scenario? Hardly! But even getting that much from him would have been a
step in the right direction. And instead I would be left by myself, while he partied
in New York City with a bunch of his new friends. Goddamn him, he was making it
clearer and clearer that he just didn't need me anymore!
I guess I'm reasonably happy," he finally said,
carefully. "Aren't you?"
I let out a loud breath. Fuck! He was getting so good he
could almost beat me at my own game. He not only told me nothing, he turned the
question around on me. Now I had to answer. I could hear my dad screaming at
the back of my head to tell Jasper that of course I was very fucking happy -
why wouldn't I be, regardless of how I really felt. But for whatever reason, I
didn't want to lie.
"Not really, no. It's not that I want to be back here,
in Forks, but there is something about being here that feels right. Like
tonight, right now. It feels right. You know?"
Oh, God, Jasper, please, please tell me you agree. Please
tell me you understand how special this is. How wonderful life was when it was
just the two of us as best friends? Please don't reject this memory and this
feeling! Please feel the same way!
"Yeah," he said softly, so softly I had to strain
to hear him. "I know. This does feel right."
Thank you! So there was hope, however fleeting?
I shifted to my side so that I could look at him, my head
supported on my bent arm. God, he was beautiful tonight, more so than ever. His
wavy hair, leached by the dark of its blonde tint, glistened like silver in the
moonlight. He turned to look at me and, again, I almost stopped breathing. His
lips were so full and fucking ripe and his eyes were so deep! It took all the self-control
I had not to pounce on him. Instead, I forced myself to think of something else
to talk about, something else that would show him how much we belonged
together.
"Remember when you moved here and we did all that stuff
together, just us? Remember camping in my back yard? And hiking at La Push? And
when I tried to teach you how to hacky sack?"
He laughed, but didn't say anything, and I was left
wondering what he was thinking about. Was it that first night we slept
together? I had this idea that I wanted to go camping. Jasper did not want to
go, explaining that he didn't like the outdoors and he didn't think he'd be
able to sleep in a tent. I finally managed to talk him into it, but of course
our parents wanted nothing to do with that and, at age 12, we weren't anywhere
near old enough to go by ourselves. Other kids may have given up, but I was
Edward Cullen and giving up was not part of my genetic code. Dad finally
realized that the monster he created was not going to just let it go, so he
gave me his credit card with instructions to go to Newton’s and buy whatever I
would need to set up camp in the back yard. Mom took me shopping and we came
back laden with gear, including a two man tent, sleeping bags, lanterns,
flashlights, and a bunch of other shit I don't think we even used. Jasper came
over and helped me set up a tent. That night Dad was working late on some
emergency surgery, so Mom grilled out for us and we ate our hamburgers and
baked beans and potato chips and the S'mores she prepared for us, and felt like
we almost could have been somewhere in the wilderness. After dinner Mom sat out
with us and told us some lame ghost stories that weren't even remotely scary,
but we listened anyway, because that was what you were supposed to do while
camping. We drew the line at singing. Then, finally, it was time to go to
sleep. We took the cell phone mom gave us "just in case" into the
tent with us, then we each stripped down to T-shirts and underwear, got into
our respective sleeping bags and tried to sleep.
Only neither one of us could sleep. We kept tossing and
turning, listening to the strange sounds of night outside the tent walls. We
did this for almost an hour, neither willing to admit that we were anything
other than loving our camping experience. Finally, Jasper spoke.
"Are you asleep?" he asked quietly.
"No. Hard to sleep with you constantly tossing and
turning and squirming over there," I said, unable and unwilling to admit
that I wouldn't have been able to sleep even if he'd been sleeping like a baby
next to me.
"I'm sorry," he said, all apologetic, accepting
the blame as usual. "I guess maybe those stories your mom told scared me
more than I thought. Maybe I should go home?"
Oh hell, no. I was not about to let him end our camping
experience in such an embarrassing defeat.
"No. Don't be such a ninny, Jasper. There's nothing out
here to be afraid of. Besides, I'm here, I'll protect you."
"I know, Edward, but . . ."
He still wasn't convinced.
"Look, would you feel better if you were right next to
me? We could zip our sleeping bags together and I could hold your hand or
something, so that you'd know I was right here."
This sounded so lame to me. How could sleeping closer to me
make him feel better, less scared? But it was the only thing I could offer to
keep him in that tent. Yet he didn't exactly jump at the chance to sleep in the
same bag with me.
"Come on, Jasper," I was getting impatient.
"Don't ruin this night, all right? Let's just put the sleeping bags
together and I guarantee you'll sleep with no problem."
He thought about it a while, as I anxiously held my breath,
before he reluctantly said, "Yeah, OK."
We turned on a flashlight and unzipped out sleeping bags,
then zipped them together. Jasper got in first and I followed right after.
Right from the start I knew this was going to help. I didn't even have to touch
him - his mere body heat next to me provided a certain level of comfort that
wasn't there before. But even though I easily could have, I didn't want to leave
it there, so instead I reached over to push him so he was laying on his side,
away from me, before sliding myself next to him and wrapping my arm around his
waist. He stiffened at first, but in short order he sighed and relaxed against
me. I pressed my face into his hair, the blonde waves ticking my nose as I
inhaled the scent of his shampoo. I moved my lips to right behind his ear and
softly whispered, "It's OK, Jas. I got you. You're safe. I've got
you."
He sighed again and relaxed further into me, leaving no
space between us. In no time at all, his breathing was deep and even and he was
sleeping. I stayed awake a few minutes longer, felling the sudden need to press
my lips to the soft skin behind his ear and whisper "You're mine. I've got
you." Not wanting to think about what I was doing and why, I forced myself
to close my eyes and go to sleep.
Looking back, nothing happened that night in the tent that
anyone would consider particularly inappropriate. But as I thought about it
now, I knew this was the first time I realized how much I craved physical
closeness with Jasper. I may not have wanted to acknowledge it or act on it
except on very rare occasions, but the craving had been there almost from the
very start. And now it was manifesting itself with a vengeance! I only wished
he felt the same way.
"We used to be so damn close," I said. "Even
when we didn't like the same stuff, we were still so close. Now I feel like
we're drifting further and further apart."
He was silent again. More consideration. More ways to keep
things from me. I closed my eyes. I'd never felt like this before. It seemed
the more I did to hang on to him, the harder he struggled to get away.
"That's what happens when people get older,
Edward," he finally spoke. I cringed at his words. Was I just a lost boy
refusing to grow up?
"Their interests and needs change and they move in
different directions," he continued. "But even if that happens, it
doesn't have to mean we care about each other any less. That never has to
change."
My eyes snapped open. What was he saying?
"So you still care about me? Like before?" God, I
sounded like such a fucking pathetic loser. I could hear the fear in my voice,
but I couldn't stop myself. I had to tell him. "'Cause I still do. I still
care about you. But lately I just haven't been sure..."
He turned on his side to face me, his concerned eyes meeting
mine. I could and did get lost so easily in those fucking eyes. He looked so
perfect! I stared at his face, at those soft, full lips, and I felt myself
growing hard.
"Of course I care about you. I will always care about
you, no matter what." He said this quietly, but his voice was reassuring.
This was always something he had been good at - reassuring me. I tried not to
show my need for it often, but when I did he was always there to support me, to
help me re-gain my self-confidence. Who the fuck else has or ever would do that
for me?
I put my hand on his forearm, rubbing it through his leather
jacket. "Thanks for that, Jas. That means a lot," I said sincerely.
And then I could no longer resist. I pulled him into a close embrace. I was so
fucking turned on, so hard for him. My body craved contact, any contact,
however small, however fleeting. Until his hips bucked into mine I didn't even
realize I was rubbing myself against him, humping his leg like a fucking dog. I
froze. God damn it! He told me he didn't want this and I'd tried to be so
careful, to restrain myself so as not to spook him again. And here I managed to
ruin everything in mere moments of weakness. I started to pull away from him,
hoping against hope that maybe he hadn't noticed.
"Wait," he said. We stared at each other. I was
terrified, but did my best to keep the fear hidden. There was something strange
in his eyes, almost as if they were smirking at me. 'I know what you want,' his
eyes said, 'and I know only I can give it to you.'
"Do you, um . . . Do you want me to help you out with
that?"
I didn't dare believe I'd heard him correctly. "I
thought you didn't . . . You said. . ." I was stammering like a complete
idiot. I wanted confirmation of his intention while, at the same time, I was
terrified my statement would remind him of his resistance earlier in the year.
"Not in Seattle," he said, his voice clipped.
"Not in the apartment. But here, it's different. . . If you want it to
be."
So the offer was conditional. I looked at him for a long
moment, realizing that he was going to illustrate exactly how Forks was
special. Well, I wasn't stupid. I would take whatever I could get. I reached down
to unbuckle my belt.
"Wait," he put his hand over mine to stop me.
"Not outside. You'll freeze."
I looked around, frantic to find another place before he
changed his mind. I couldn't find an alternate location.
"Where?" I asked, knowing I sounded desperate, but
not really caring. I just wanted to feel his hands on me before he could think
of a reason to take back his offer.
"Your car," he said. "Back seat."
I didn't hesitate. I got up as quickly as I could and
hurried over to the car, opening the doors remotely. I didn't want to give him
any time to think and change his mind. I got in the back seat, pulled the car
door shut behind me, and was taking off my pants and briefs before he even got
himself situated.
It had been over six months since the last time he'd done
this for me and I should have been too drunk to remember any of it, but the
feel of his hand on my cock still lived large in my memory. I wondered suddenly
if I'd made too much of it. Maybe my drunken mind made a particularly average
or below average experience into the hand job of a lifetime. I would find out
in moments, and I was at once exhilarated and terrified.
I knew the last time he had used some sort of artificial
lubricant. This time there would be no such luxuries. I suddenly realized that
agreeing to this could have been the worst single fucking idea I had ever had.
I shouldn't have worried; I should have had faith in him.
Jasper was too caring not to think about something like this. I watched his
cheeks move as he worked up a mouthful of saliva which he spit into his hand,
lubricating it the old fashioned way. Only then did he reach over and wrap his
right hand around my turgid dick.
"Ugh, Jasper," I couldn't keep the groan of
pleasure from escaping my lips. My mind had not embellished - this was the best
fucking thing I have ever felt. It's not as though my cock has not had its fair
share of exercise in the six months since Jasper's last hand job. Maybe not
that summer he was gone, but certainly since we moved to Seattle. The number of
women who'd given me hand jobs, blow jobs and more was too high to count,
especially in this semi-drunken mind set. But none of them, not a single one,
came even close to giving me the kind of experience Jasper was giving me now.
His large hand fit absolutely perfectly around me as he stroked my swollen
shaft.
Filled with need for relief, I started to buck my hips into
his hand, only to feel him restrain my movements with his other hand. I
couldn't believe it. Instead of doing everything he could to make this go as
fast as possible, he was actually forcing me to slow down. Holy fuck! I leaned
my head back against the seat and closed my eyes, trying to shut out everything
but the feel of his pumping hand. I was breathing in shallow bursts, mildly aware
that this could cause me to hyperventilate, which would be the absolute last
thing I wanted. A part of me was still so scared that at any moment he would
come to his senses and just stop, leaving me panting and unsatisfied. But a bit
of that worry was relieved when I tried bucking again and this time he let me
set the pace and stroked me to match the timing of my thrusts.
"Fuck," I sighed as he concentrated on my head.
Then I felt him shift and saw him reach for his zipper with his left hand.
"Let me help you too, Jasper," I said, my voice
thick with lust. "It's only fair."
This whole thing was getting more and more unbelievable by
the moment. Not only would I get to come to him stroking me, I might get to do
the same to him, to touch him again too!
"You don't have to," he said. "I'll be fine
if I just get some more room."
Oh yeah, fuck, like I was gonna let that happen! No damn way
was I going to pass up this chance to feel his silky soft clad hardness in my
hand again.
"I know I don't have to. Just like you didn't have
to," I pointed out and reached for his belt buckle. We worked together to
undo the closures and then to pull down his jeans and boxers to reveal his
beautiful, hard cock. It was like a piece of art, a fucking masterpiece! All I
wanted to do was grab it and make him feel so good that he'd never want to
leave me.
I worked up a good deal of my own saliva and coated my hand
before reaching out and wrapping it around him, giving him one easy stroke up
and down his entire shaft. I watched him close his eyes, contentment spreading
over his face.
"Damn, Edward," he breathed, and I smiled.
"I know," I replied, because I certainly did know.
There was nothing else that felt like this. As much as I loved having him touch
me earlier, this was so much more amazing than that. What could ever rival us
stroking each other, pleasuring one another?
He opened his eyes so that we were now completely focused on
each other. I almost expected him to turn away, but was overjoyed to see that
he did not, clearly enjoying the connection between us as much as I was. He
moved his hand faster and I increased my pace in tandem. We were watching each
other, gauging our reactions as our hands gripped and stroked each other’s
cocks, bringing us closer and closer to orgasm. I felt him tense and harden
still more as I stroked him, and I knew that he was gonna come first. The
knowledge that I could bring him release first, even though he'd been working
my cock longer, filled me with pride. It meant that I was doing something
right, and that he was still not completely immune to me. It meant that if I
worked hard and came up with the right plan, I could re-claim his as my own.
Jasper's face confirmed what his body had already signaled.
One more stroke and his cum was jetting out of his cock, coating the back of
the passenger seat. He was bucking and thrashing and his eyes were glazed over
but his hand never let go of or stopped stroking my dick. And there was no more
potent of a turn on that watching Jasper come. Just a few moments of watching
his erupting dick and a fountain of jizz shot out of my prick all the way to
the back of the driver's seat. Jas kept moving his hand and I kept shooting,
until eventually there was nothing left. Jasper was spent as well. We both let go
of each other and leaned back, closing our eyes. For me, at least, it didn't
make a damn bit of difference that my eyes were closed. All I saw projecting on
the back of my eyelids were replays of Jasper's orgasm. It was the most amazing
and exciting thing I had ever seen, and if I died before I could open my eyes I
would have been quite happy to die with those images ingrained in my mind.
Of course, I wasn't gonna die. And one of us had to say
something to the other.
"Jas, that was . . ,." I stopped. There were no
words to describe the wonder of what just happened between us. "I mean, no
girl has ever . . . Damn!"
And fuck! How stupid was I? What the hell was I doing
inviting girls into this conversation? The last thing I wanted him to think
about what how what we were doing might have been different than what all the
other guys we knew, except for Seth and Emmett, were doing with their friends.
"Yeah, ditto," he said, sounding so cavalier.
"Girls don't really know what they're dealing with as well as we do, do
they?"
"No, I guess not," I agreed, all the while
wondering where his new found confidence came from.
I didn't know what else to say. We both pulled up our
underwear and pants.
"Do you have any tissues or rags in here so we can
clean some of this shit off?" Jasper asked, pointing to the creamy white
evidence of out earlier activity.
"There should be some napkins in the console." I
said, not at all sure if I was speaking the truth or sending him on a wild
goose chase. He dug around and produced some napkins, doling out half to me. We
proceeded to wipe up as much of the mess as possible, though I knew I would
have to get the car detailed to get everything completely clean.
"I guess we'd better get going," he said, checking
the time on his wristwatch.
"Yeah," I agreed, unable to keep my disappointment
from my voice. I don't know how many times I had done this very same thing with
girls - packed it up and gone home as soon as I recovered from coming. With my
mission accomplished, there had been no reason to stay. I certainly never
wanted to cuddle or, worse yet, talk. But with him it was different. With him,
I wasn't ready for the night to end. I knew we couldn't exactly cuddle in the
back seat, but a little more conversation would have been nice.
Christ! I sounded like such a pussy! There was no way in
hell I would ever admit to having any of these thoughts. I opened the door and
he did the same, both of us dropping our respective napkins into the park trash
can before getting into the front seats. I put the key in the ignition, but I
couldn't turn it.
"Jasper, can I ask you a question?" I inquired.
This Seattle shit, the distinction he was making, was bothering me too much to
let it go.
"Of course," he readily agreed.
"Why is Seattle different?" I couldn't look at him
as I asked, absolutely terrified of what the answer would be.
"I don't know," he replied. "I guess this is
the past and Seattle is the present, our real life in the real world, instead
of in this minuscule fishbowl. That's the main difference. But it has to be
that way. We have to move on. We can't live in the past, right?"
And there it was. I'd suspected all along he felt this way,
but didn't expect him to confirm it so casually and without any regret. In
fact, seemingly without any feeling at all. He and I were old news, the past.
He wanted to move on.
I didn't know what to do. I knew I wouldn't be able to talk
him into changing his mind. That certainly never worked for any of the girls
I'd given this or similar speeches. But I couldn't just let him go, either. He
was mine, damn it! Somewhere along the way he got this idea that he was
independent and could do whatever he pleased, but he must have forgotten he was
dealing with a Cullen. We Cullens always got what we wanted, and I wanted him
near me, forever. He clearly didn't realize this yet, but he was never going to
leave me unless I wanted him to go.
I started the car and pulled out of the parking lot,
mumbling something that sounded like agreement with his statement, though I clearly
felt none of that. The drive from the park to his house was short, and in no
time he was getting out of the car again. I told him I'd pick him up after
breakfast Sunday for the drive back to Seattle and then waited for him to get
inside before speeding back to my parents' house. I needed time to think, to
come up with that foolproof plan.
Author’s Note: The
title of this chapter is the opening lyric from the song Bad by U2. I thought
the sentiment and the whole song were perfect for this chapter. Your comments
are welcome and appreciated!
