Cracked Chapter 5
Title: Cracked
Fandom: Twilight
Genre: Humor/Parody
Rating: T
Main Pairing: Bella and Edward
LJ Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4
Also on ff.net
Summary: Welcome to an experiment in dark humor, with alternating emphasis on the "dark" and the "humor." To tell you the truth, I'm not sure where exactly this story is taking me; unlike my other stories, the whole thing isn't prewritten. Hopefully it's still fun, though. My thanks to Ms. Meyer, for creating such memorable characters and for not minding that we all play with them.
Today's chapter went off in a bit of a weird direction. I like it anyway.
Previously: Mondays suck.
From Twilight Chapter 3: “Phenomenon”
If there’s anything that sucks more than Mondays, it’s Tuesdays.
That’s not true.
Today it just feels true.
Today the rain and snow have stopped, but the freezing temperatures have not. The streets are completely coated in ice. Today Charlie wakes up at dark-thirty, has to haul ass to Josh McCrae’s house and wake the man up so he can open the auto parts store early to get tire chains for his daughter-which, apparently, Charlie didn’t think about buying the day before, when the snow was fresh on the ground and McCrae’s was still open. Then Charlie has to install the chains on Bella’s truck, and because he’s too much of a cheapskate to buy the EZ Fit Chain Block, the job takes him twenty minutes instead of five, and he doesn’t have time to talk to Bella before he has to leave for work.
Today Bella drives on the ice for the first time in her life, and she’s scared. Nobody taught her how to do this-Charlie forgot to tell her about that part, and there isn’t time to Google it. She drives slowly, giving herself plenty of time to stop, and remembers those pamphlets published by Shell Oil that she had to do little reports on in Driver’s Ed, in particular the one about turning into the skid if you’re sliding on the ice. Fortunately, she doesn’t skid even once and reaches the school parking lot unscathed.
She is being watched.
Today Edward is trying not to be a nervous wreck, which amuses Jasper to no end, though mercifully he doesn’t tease Edward about it. Yesterday was the first time Edward ever had a conversation with Bella Swan, and it quite literally left him reeling. By the time school was out, he was following her around in the minds of anyone adjacent to her. And yes, that included the locker room, although he absolutely refused to admit it. Of course, he was so nervous and confused about why he was doing it that even his vampire brain couldn’t process everything, so by the time he understood what he was seeing, he’d seen no more than Bella’s mostly bare shoulders and was left to wonder if a dark blue bra said anything specific about a girl’s morals or preferences. His favorite brother was no help-he believed Edward’s hang-up was pure bloodlust (Edward did not correct him) and advised him to just devour her and get it over with. Rosalie called Edward a jackass and went back to her self-directed admiration, and Alice was strangely cryptic about the whole thing instead of behaving like her usual bouncy self. Edward shunned them all in favor of a solitary hunt that night, but he was joined by his father. He had no good explanation for why he wasn’t running on swift legs to Halifax or further, why he had no intention of leaving Forks. Sunrise brought no comfort, just wonder.
I wonder if I’ll be strong enough to resist her blood.
I wonder what she’ll say today.
I wonder if she got the dog smell out of her clothes.
So today Edward is standing in the lot beside his car with his tiny sister, grateful that she can’t read his mind, because he’s wondering what color bra Bella is wearing today, and he’s feeling ashamed about that, but not so ashamed that he’s going to stop thinking about it. He’s reminiscing pleasantly about a tiny, heart-shaped mole on her left shoulder, and the way it lies flush against her ice-pale skin, when he hears her truck’s engine howling down the road, loud enough to drown out most Harleys. (Somewhere in the world a biker is not sure why he has a sudden urge to kick a vampire’s ass. Nothing drowns out a Harley-Davidson, asshole.)
Bella parks, notices the snow chains, and finds herself pressing her hand to her mouth. In all her years with her mother, Renee provided Bella with love, tolerance, and good humor, she provided creative and emotional support, she provided realistic sexual information and condoms instead of Puritanical platitudes. But one thing Renee never was good at, one thing she just didn’t know how to do on a practical level, was keep Bella from physical harm. That’s why Bella was the one who signed up for Driver’s Ed at Sears and self defense at the JCC, who generated shopping lists and installed internet security, the one who booked doctor’s appointments and mammograms. Not since she was a small girl has Bella believed anyone else would take care of her, not this way. This is not hugs and camaraderie, this is not therapeutic shopping because the boy she had a crush on called her a butt-sniffer or a buck-toothed nerd. This is Charlie’s quiet way of saying, “I love you, and I want to keep you safe.”
Edward finds Bella’s emotional reaction fascinating because he doesn’t understand why it’s there, what brought it on, if she’s crazy, what it all means. But he wants to. So today he’s finally going to move forward. He’s going to talk to this girl out here in the open air, where there’s less risk, and solve at least one of her mysteries.
Today sucks because Tyler Crowley got really bored an hour before school and decided to toke up.
Usually Tyler smokes one joint and stays high for half an hour, forty minutes tops. That’s the benefit of smoking lousy weed-the effects don’t last long enough to incapacitate you for the rest of the day. But Tyler spent part of his Christmas break in Canada with cousins who had excellent suppliers. At twenty-five bucks per gram, Strawberry Cough is renowned for its medicinal properties, its anti-anxiety effects, and its long-lasting euphoria.
Edward has one extra second of warning, provided by a terrified Alice. One extra second to look across the lot directly into Bella Swan’s eyes as she hears the van swerving on the ice and careening toward her. One second, and it is clear: Bella knows she is about to die.
Well, that shit ain’t happening.
Lightning quick and invisible, Edward crosses the parking lot, yanks Bella out of the way, shoves and half-juggles a friggin’ van (which, by the way, nobody notices at all, because apparently Forks High School is populated entirely by the legally blind). He protects her spine, her legs, everything except her head, which bumps against the asphalt with a loud crack and terrifies him in a way he never thought possible.
Even more terrifying, though he won’t realize it until later, is how perfectly she fits in his arms, how he instinctively knows the best way to cradle her, even though he’s never held a woman this way in all his long life.
For now, he’s trying to ignore all but the most relevant ambient thoughts. The van’s driver is confused, bleeding his warm but tainted blood…and he’s officially never going to smoke marijuana again for as long as he lives. Three students and a teacher are craning their necks hoping to see blood, the damn rubberneckers. (Never mind that were Edward a different kind a vampire, he’d be thinking the same thing.) Jessica is the first to reach for her phone and dial nine-one-one-Edward will never say a harsh word about her again. His brothers and sisters could care less about the girl; they are unhappy with Edward (Rosalie can’t seem to think of anything except the word ‘dumbass’), their primary concern being what they’ll have to do to avoid exposure, or even suspicion, because they’re all as self-centered as your average two-year-old. Yes, these are the sons and daughters of a dedicated physician. You’d think at least one of them would realize that none of them would have been able to resist an impromptu blood buffet, well-fed or not. How’s that for exposure?
“Edward?” a dazed voice reaches him from below. All other thoughts vanish.
“Bella, are you all right?”
Am I all right? Bella takes a moment or two to consider this question. She’s cold, she’s on the ground, there’s a dull throb somewhere on the back of her head, someone’s van just hit her truck, and she’s pretty sure she just ruined her one and only heavy coat. She’s also being held like she’s precious cargo, and is about two inches away from being kissed. By the guy who smells like women’s body spray. And…some kind of pungent animal?
“This is the second weirdest day of my life,” she sighs.
Edward smiles, but it’s a worried smile, because he’s afraid she’s concussed. He carefully touches the back of her skull, feeling for the telltale lump. Yes, there it is. But thank whatever gods are paying attention today, there’s no blood. “Don’t move. You’re hurt.”
“Wait a minute,” she stops him, “how’d you get over here so fast.”
Edward almost drops her on the tarmac again. “I was standing right behind you.”
“No you weren’t.”
“Yes, I was.”
“Were not.”
“Was, too.”
“Were not! I saw you!”
“Did not.”
“Did, too.”
“No, you didn’t see me. That’s the whole point.”
She glances to her right, then her left, then around Edward’s head. “There’s a dent in the car next to us shaped exactly like your shoulder, and another one embedded in the van behind you. I believe they’re making a different point entirely.”
Shit. By now the sirens are announcing the paramedics’ arrival, which means Chief Swan won’t be far behind. “Bella, please. I was standing right behind you. Understand?”
“Why?”
“Just…please.”
Bella hears her dad’s voice approaching, and she can smell the driver’s blood. It’s making her nauseous, which won’t end well if she doesn’t shut up and hold herself together. She’s not sure how her father will react to this situation, if he’ll overreact like Renee does, but she’d rather keep the embarrassment to a minimum. Vomit won’t help the cause. “Fine. But you owe me, Cullen.”
She doesn’t understand the face he makes when he answers, “Fine,” and sets her down. Why is he backing away and looking at her like day-old garbage when two seconds ago he looked like he was ready to make out?
Charlie didn’t get to be chief of police because he panics in a crisis. He’s barking out orders, supervising the removal of Tyler’s van, ordering a blood test for the suspiciously-scented Tyler, taking Edward very seriously when he indicates Bella has a possible concussion (traitor, she seethes inwardly), and generally impressing most of the female bystanders with his authority and manliness. Rosalie will never admit it, but even she’s feeling hot and bothered. (What? She may be undead, but she’s not dead dead.)
Bella doesn’t know it, but while she’s riding on a gurney in the back of the ambulance, Edward’s riding in the front seat. She’d probably be more aware of it (and irritated by it) if these damn weirdo EMTs didn’t have a brace around her neck and an unnecessary oxygen mask over her face. A bump on the head, people. A simple bump on the back of the head does not inhibit a girl’s breathing. She should know-this isn’t her first goose egg.
When she attempts to mention this to the EMT, he smiles. “Gotta take extra good care of you. Your dad scares the crap out of me.”
“Who, Charlie? No way,” she laughs. To her, Charlie’s firm but fair, not outwardly emotional but still a big softie. That’s because she normally only sees him for two weeks or so out of the year, and only during his downtime. When it comes to work, the man’s a total hardass. Charlie is going to ask questions and demand answers, to say nothing of tearing Tyler a new asshole.
Edward knows this. He knows he should be worried about witnesses and investigations and the goddamn nosy Vampire Gestapo finding out about this (from six thousand miles away, no less). Instead he hightails it to Carlisle the minute he steps foot through the hospital doors, looking for all the world like a panicked twelve-year-old boy who just saw a hairy cantaloupe poking out of a pregnant lady’s special place.
Bella is just fine. Of course she’s fine; we’re only in chapter three of the book. Everybody knows that the protagonist isn’t going to go through something permanently scarring and/or lethal in chapter three. Either she goes through it in the first chapter, so the rest of the story can be about overcoming the challenges caused by the accident, or she goes through it in the climax, so the audience can be all worried about her.
Unfortunately, the characters don’t know that, so they’re needlessly worried. Bella gets it, really. It’s a miracle she survived, and she knows it, so it’s understandable that people are freaking out a little and that Tyler is babbling nonsense excuses about driving too fast and hitting the ice wrong (even though she can smell the real reason just fine). What she doesn’t understand is why her father is not in the ER with her. She doesn’t need him there, but when she gets back from radiology and he’s still not there, it bugs her. Usually Renee is underfoot and in the way whenever Bella makes a trip to a hospital.
It’s not Charlie’s fault; he had to deal with Tyler’s parents, who don’t know whether to be more upset about the van being totaled or the fact that their son is going to be placed under arrest for a DUI. The district attorney (number five on Charlie’s speed dial) is happy to prosecute this case. Charlie desperately wants to go to his daughter’s side, but they don’t allow cellular phones in the emergency room, not even the chief’s work-only cell-phone, so he has to use the Waiting Room payphone to call his ex-wife. Renee won’t stop crying his damned ear off about ‘my baby, my baby’ long enough for him to get a word in edgewise.
It is as Bella’s feigning sleep so that she can ignore Tyler’s renewed apologies (all the more strenuous now that he’s been cuffed to the handrails of his bed) that she hears the familiar sound-when did it become familiar?-of Edward Cullen’s voice.
“Is she sleeping?”
“Hardly,” she quips, opening her eyes and noting his smile, his suave expression. Something about the way he’s looking at her makes her want to slap him. “I know better than to go to sleep when I’ve sustained a head injury.”
“Oh,” Edward says uncomfortably, feeling a little guilty and a lot foolish. No one can throw him off his game quite like Bella can. “Right. How-?”
“Edward,” Tyler interrupts him, “I’m sorry man, I-”
“Don’t speak,” Edward hisses, furious with this idiot for all the havoc he’s caused. “You almost killed someone today.” To Bella, he turns and tries again. “So what’s the verdict?”
“No one in this hellhole will tell me anything,” Bella complains. She isn’t usually this much of a brat, but she’s been here for over two hours and has yet to see an actual doctor. That kind of thing is normal in the densely populated Phoenix, where plenty of hospitals are filled to capacity, but there are no other patients in this ER at the moment. If she actually had a cracked skull, she’d be dead by now from swelling around the brain. “Isn’t your dad supposed to be a doctor? Can’t you get him in here or something? Please?”
Edward meant to say something smooth, like ‘It’s all about who you know. But don’t worry, I came to spring you.’ He even timed it perfectly so that Carlisle would walk in right after he said it. Instead he has now missed his cue, and it is Bella who announces Carlisle’s arrival.
And sweet mercy, what an arrival! After three-and-a-half centuries, Carlisle Cullen has perfected the art of walking into a room. Bella notices everything in exactly the order he wants her to: the length of his stride (black slacks stand out beneath his white coat), then his blonde hair and wide shoulders (achieved by keeping his head lowered toward the silver clipboard in his hands), and finally his gorgeous (if too pale) face and billionaire smile as he looks up from her chart. He can even do it in slow motion.
He is mildly surprised when Bella does not swoon.
It’s not that she doesn’t know a handsome man when she sees one, but by now Bella is pissed. Not only has she been kept waiting too long, she was almost crushed by a stoner who has been allowed to converse with her, she knows she’s perfectly fine but no one will discharge her, and even though she’s as grown and independent as a seventeen-year-old can be, she would still like to see her dad, if for no other reason than the fact that she’s a minor, and no one will give her so much as a milligram of ibuprofen without parental consent. And how lame is it that these Cullens ooze seduction every time they want to shut people up or get something they want? Bella always hated people who acted that way back in Phoenix, and she really hates it right now.
“Dr. Cullen, I presume?”
“Miss Swan,” he answers, trying to turn up the debonair charm. “How are you feeling?”
“Annoyed,” she says honestly. She knows better than to get in a snit with her health care professional, but at this point she doesn’t give a damn. “I’m also nauseated, but that’s because I can smell Puff the Magic Bleeding Dragon over there,” she indicates Tyler with a hooked thumb. “How do my x-rays look?”
“They look fine.” Carlisle smiles again, though it’s looking a little more desperate. He puts the film up on the lightboard and indicates the area where the bump should be. “No concussion, no major trauma. The nausea worries me, though. Does your head hurt? Edward said you hit it pretty hard.”
Yeah, I’ll bet he did, Bella grumbles internally. “Look, obviously you’re not the ER doc-you’re in a suit, not scrubs. So none of this is your fault, but you’re here now, so I’ll tell you: something is wrong with this place. If anyone thought my injury was even remotely serious, there should have been a doctor in here a lot sooner. Someone’s been in here to cuff Tyler to his bed, but not to stitch him up or change his bandages. Is his blood even clotting? Has anyone bothered to check? Where’s the ER doctor, out golfing in the snow? And while we’re at it, why is your son still in here during my exam? Don’t you have rules about privacy or confidentiality?” She shoots a hard look at Edward at the end of that sentence, a reminder: I haven’t forgotten anything, Cullen. Edward may not be able to read her mind, but for once, he understands her meaning.
Carlisle, deeply embarrassed by his hospital’s state of neglect, stops trying to look sexy and apologizes for his absent colleague. Dr. Stevens, who is supposed to be on duty, is not snow-golfing, nor is he having a two-hour breakfast. He’s making a house call. At a motel. With a young co-ed who is most definitely neither his patient nor his wife. Proving once again that small towns are every bit as depraved as big cities.
Dr. Cullen gives Bella a few aftercare instructions and signs her release. Remembering her manners (finally), she thanks him for seeing her, grabs the paperwork, and follows Edward out of the room.
Edward doesn’t want to be followed. This much is obvious. Bella, however, doesn’t care. “Slow down, Speed Racer,” she calls after him. “You rushing off to save more hapless females from certain death?” It’s just a joke, but she isn’t wrong; Edward is trying to save someone. Her. From himself. She smells so good…
When he turns around his eyes are not angry, but he looks at her like he’s looking at a desk or a bug-not worth his time. “What do you want?” Go away. Please.
Bella’s not shocked by his reaction; actually, it seems fair. “Sorry I was so abrasive before. Hospitals make me cranky.” Coincidentally, they have the exact same effect on Edward, and for almost the exact same reason: the smell. “Thank you for getting your dad for me.”
“Sure.” Edward waits a beat. “So if that’s all-?”
“It’s not.”
He folds his arms and begins impatiently tapping his fingers.
“How’d you do it?” she asks.
“Do what?”
“This isn’t an episode of Smallville, Cullen. You don’t have to go to ridiculous lengths to convince me I didn’t see what I saw, and I’m not going to publicize your secret identity. Just tell me how you stopped the van.” She really hopes he doesn’t say adrenaline-she would have smelled that in his sweat. If he had any.
“You’re very direct, aren’t you?” Edward deflects. “Do you ever let up?”
Bella folds her own arms, lifting a curious eyebrow. The other eyebrow remains indifferent. “Actually, most of that was sarcasm. You don’t really have a secret identity, do you?”
“If I did,” Edward frowns (a rare mistake-he really should smile), “that would be…a secret.”
“Okay, smartass,” Bella grins wryly, filing away his frown for future contemplation. “The van.”
“Didn’t happen. You’re confused.” If only Jedi mind tricks actually worked that way. Or at all.
“I’m not blind or stupid. You crossed the parking lot in half a second and stopped a minivan with your hand. Not even two hands, just one.”
“Nobody will believe that nonsense,” Edward insists.
“Do you ever listen? I have no intention of telling the world you’re an albino Clark Kent.” She reaches out and almost touches his arm, but stops short when his body stiffens. “I promise.”
She sounds like she means it, but Edward has no way of knowing that for certain, so he has no choice but to cast aspersions on her reliability. “I’m going to ignore the albino remark, because you hit your head and you’re nauseous. Clearly you were hallucinating.” He flashes her with his most condescending smile. “I didn’t stop the van, your behemoth truck did. Now run along to your daddy, little girl. I have better things to do than waste the rest of my day with you.”
Bella just looks at him, not mad (at least not yet), but disappointed. Clark Kent may be firm about his denial, but he’s not rude about it. But Clark Kent is a kindly alien from a comic book, and Edward Cullen is…something else. “Then I guess I’ll go thank my truck for saving my life, since you don’t give a shit.”
“I really don’t,” he lies. It kills him to do it-Bella’s not as good as she’d like to be at hiding hurt feelings.
“I see.” Her hand is still outstretched, as if she’s offering him something instead of asking for something. “Then why pull me out of the way?”
Edward’s face softens, and he gives her an honest answer at last. “I don’t know.”
Bella retracts her hand, clinging to her own arm instead. Neither of them has been on their best behavior today, and she can’t say she knows the full measure of Edward Cullen, but she is smart enough to know that even if he doesn’t like her, he didn’t hesitate to save her. “Even a good man sees evil days,” she tells him softly, and then she’s gone.
Today sucks because Charlie won’t take his eyes off Bella from the minute she greets him in the waiting room (she has to sift through a crowd of class-ditchers and concerned acquaintances in the waiting area before she can find him, and he’s still on the phone with Renee, who won’t stop her hysterics but isn’t exactly booking the next flight to Washington, either). Nor will Charlie allow his child to cook those chicken fajitas she wanted to make, because he’s terrified she’ll faint and land face first in a pan of hot grease-she’s tempted fate enough for one day, he tells her, but really it’s because he feels guilty for not being with her in the ER. So basically Bella’s stuck in the living room eating pineapple pizza and working on Penny Press logic puzzles while Charlie pretends he’s not hovering (because everyone knows cool dads don’t hover, and clearly this is a man who cares about being cool). Really Bella would rather just lock herself in her room, turn on some music, pull Silicone Freddy Prinze Jr. out from its secret hiding place (What? She can’t like older men? Don’t be so ageist.), and do one thing that she knows will feel good after a truly awful day. Just as well that she doesn’t try, though-the phone won’t stop ringing, and most of the calls are from the same person.
A significant portion of what should be recovery time has to be spent on the phone reassuring Renee, who believes worry equals action. This is because whenever Renee worries hard enough about something she doesn’t think she can handle alone, somebody (usually Bella) makes whatever she’s worried about work out. Renee also seems to think the best option right now is for Bella to leave Forks after one week of residence and come live with her in a fleabag motel in south Florida, where there is no ice on the streets. Just hurricanes from June through November, not that Renee’s thought of this yet. Bella amazes her mother by opting to remain in Washington, where the roads may be icy and the boys may be douchebags, but at least she has a home, a sense of stability, and a chance at a decent education. She may have to share a bathroom with Charlie, but here she doesn’t also have to share a bedroom and a single-burner hotplate with her mother and Phil and attend a ghetto Floridian school district. Bella doesn’t tell her mother about the strange circumstances of her rescue, only that someone pulled her out of harm’s way. She’ll never tell anyone; she gave her word. It takes forever for Bella to fall asleep even with three Tylenol, and Edward stars in her dreams. Dressed in blue tights and a red cape.
Today sucks because Edward has a knock-down, drag-out fight with his family after school, most of which are in favor of ending an innocent girl’s life just so they won’t have to move to another town (never mind that they move to new towns all the time, and have uprooting down to an exact science by now). Even his mother doesn’t care what happens to the girl, so long as he remains-very maternal of her. The outcome of the discussion disturbs Edward, especially Alice’s wavering visions of a life no longer solitary. Now he is running, trying to escape the looks from his family, their pity and confusion, their shock and sadness and judgment. He sprints, climbs, jumps, falls, ploughs through the wilderness until he reaches water. He even contemplates spending the rest of his existence at the bottom of Puget Sound where he’ll never have to smell anything again, but he can’t escape. If he could sleep, he still wouldn’t be able to-his mind fixates on Bella’s parting words all night long. She was quoting the Buddha, but it feels more like she’s issued a dare: be a good man, for me.
Today sucks because behind all the stress of too much unwanted attention, nearly dying, that terrible excuse for a hospital, being forced to smell Tyler’s blood for so long, and Edward being an asshole, Bella doesn’t hear the message Edward can’t say with words, the one even he doesn’t seem to realize is there. The message was conveyed in stone hands and a dented van, in the way he rushed for a doctor with well over two hundred years of practical experience, in his impatience to the point of crushing a marble paperweight to dust when Carlisle refused to attract further attention by flying down to the ER, and in the threat Edward issued against his own flaxen-haired brother and sister for Bella’s sake (“You even think about laying a finger on that girl, and I’ll chop off your hands, set fire to them, and shove them up your own asses.”).
It all adds up to Edward’s message for Bella, for her alone, only this time she can’t hear it:
I love you, and I want to keep you safe.