Twilight Fan Fiction ❯ Shooting Star ❯ Return ( Chapter 7 )

CHAPTER 7: Return

 

The rest of the afternoon dragged on, slowly but comfortably.

I was excruciatingly ready for tonight, but I felt nice…almost right to savor my last afternoon of innocence. I laughed as I realized that was what I was thinking of it as. It started raining around five. The rain sounded different on the Cullen's roof than on my old house. More distant. Edward and I decided to take it slow, watching some TV, lounging around with the rest of the vampires that occupied the Cullen estate until ten-ish.

I kept peeking at Edward out of the corner of my eyes, and I could see him doing the same.

After an episode of “American Idol” ended, he leaned over and whispered silkily in my ear:
“Do you want to go now?”

Did I? Did I?!

I had been waiting for this moment since June!

What do you think, Edward?

But instead of voicing all of this out loud, I just nodded my head. Edward took my hand and pulled me up from the couch. He shot a glare around the room to the other six pairs of eyes watching us, daring them to make a comment.

No one did.

I sighed as we reached the other room and started up the stairs, Edward scooping me up the same as the night he'd tricked me into engagement and flying up the stairs in a blurred motion. Well at least I guessed it would have been blurred had I not been in the center of it. We reached the top of the stairs, and Edward stopped, placing me back on my feet.

“What was that for?” I asked.

“I couldn't risk having you fall down the stairs…again,” he laughed, remembering the day before the wedding when I had almost killed myself hurrying down the same flight of stairs. I grimaced.

“Yah, yah. Laugh all you want.” There was something in his eyes as he stared at me. I stared back, questioning the burning intensity I could see there.

“Bella?” He asked, his voice so silky sweet.

“Yah?” I said breathlessly.

“Would you do something for me?”

“Anything,” I whispered fiercely. The crooked smile I loved so much touched his perfect face. He looked down to the wood paneled floor of the expansive room below, his eyes trailing across the stereo that Alice had placed in the corner earlier to dance around to.

He held out his hand to me, and I took it.

“May I have this dance?” His voice was so sweet, so silky, so incredibly brimming with emotion, I almost fainted. He didn't wait for me to respond, scooping me up once again and rocketing down the stairs, hurtling to a graceful stop in the middle of the floor, placing me on my feet.

“Edward,” I hissed, my chin on his shoulder. “You know I can't dance.”

“Silly Bella,” he mused, pulling back so he could look into my eyes. “We already had this discussion, remember? Prom.” I made a face and he chuckled. “This will be better…” he leaned in so his flawless features were only inches from my face. I could smell his scent, and inhaled deeply, “because it will just be you and me.”

“That doesn't sound so bad,” I allowed. In a blur he raced to the stereo, barely touching it, and then was in front of me again in a flash. Music filled the large room, prefect volume. It was an old number. I think I recognized the slow trumpet and the old voice that sounded somewhat like Frank Sinatra.

“May I have this dance?” Edward repeated, slipping his hand around my waist.

A perfect gentleman.

I had a sudden image—of Edward in a suit and top hat at a party in 1918 asking me to dance in a frilly white dress that brushed the floor, my hair twisted up and entwined with flowers.

“Of course,” I told him, and with the one hand he had around my waist, he picked me up, placing my feet on his.

“There, now,” he said, voice soothing, “nothing to worry about.” I felt his other hand at my waist also, and I slid my hands under his arms and around his chest, placing my cheek against his shoulder. He swayed slowly to the music. I closed my eyes, concentrating on the cold touch of his neck against my other cheek, the scent coming off his skin, and his even breathing. I sighed.

“I love you, Edward,” I whispered on a whim. I felt him smile.

“I love you too, Bella.” I squeezed my arms around him. I heard him start to hum along with the melody, his voice perfectly on tune, the vibrations resonating through his throat and chest. Then he started singing the words. “Isn't it romantic?” He sang, his voice low and velvet. I don't know how long we stayed like that…gently swaying to the old melody that was Edward.

For one of the few times in my life, there was no where else I would rather be, and nothing else I would rather be doing. I was perfectly content. I found this strange. At that moment I had no desire to kiss him, or hurry upstairs to instigate our plans.

I felt entirely whole.

As if, if I stayed like this forever, I would never want anything else.

In the back of my mind, I found it strange that I felt completely content while dancing of all things, but I pushed that far from my mind as we drifted off to a place all our own.

Edward and Bella.

I was sure he felt it too.

The song slowly drifted to an end, and I pulled back reluctantly to look into his eyes. Melted butterscotch; warm and sweet.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his hand drifting up to cup my cheek. His thumb slowly caressed across it. I closed my eyes, leaning into the touch.

“No, thank you. That was…” I struggled for the words to describe what had just happened between us.

“I know,” he said, his eyes smoldering.

At that moment I heard a knock on the door. Why would someone be knocking on the Cullen's door? I wondered. They live out in the middle of no where. I looked over at Edward and found him frozen—every muscle in his body was locked into place. “What is it?” I whispered.

“You'd better answer it, Bella,” Edward's voice was low and quiet. I looked at him with questioning eyes, but turned around. I took long strides, almost breaking into a jog as I crossed the large entry room to the Cullen's front door. I heard more knocking…a slow tired knock. I opened the door.

“Yes? Who is—?”

I couldn't finish my sentence.

Because as the door swung open into the driving rain, it revealed a haggard boy with soaking strands of black hair coming down to his shoulders. He wore no shirt, just a tattered pair of very old jeans. Across his bare chest, were deep gashes—claw marks. The rain dripping down him was crimson, stained with the blood that still oozed from the wounds across his entire torso. His black eyes flickered across my face, the expression on his not changing. His body was so tense, he was quivering.

I couldn't speak.

My voice was locked in my throat, and refused to form words.

“Hey, Bells,” the boy said, his voice so deep and familiar, “Can I come in?” My voice whooshed out in an audible gust of air.

“Jacob?”