Gently Through This Broken Sky (R/K) Fic
Title: Gently Through This Broken Sky
Author: shadow_walker3
Pairing: Kristen Stewart/Robert Pattinson rpf (written in KPOV)
Rating: I believe I’m incapable of writing anything less than R or NC-17, so this is no exception, but I’m incapable of also writing porn without plot (just ask my friends). One day though…I’ll succeed.
Warnings: Other than the above, I can’t really think of any…unless you have a really weak stomach.
Summary: I will preface all summaries by saying that I enjoy injured men. I have since I was about eight years old. I cannot explain, nor do I promote the injuring of men; however, there will be no complaint from me if they are. For some reason, I find them hotter when injured. I believe it to be some sort of Florence Nightingale complex, where the need to then take care of them takes over and…I have no idea - they’re just hotter, ok? So to get to the actual summary, which is longer now than it should be, I finally just asked my friend/beta/lover/wife/hetero-life partner, Kaia what the hell the summary should be and she said: “It’s a story about how a plane crash brings people together (she doesn’t write for Hallmark, I swear), like a bat mitzvah, but less fun - with less dancing and relatives and food and more snow and possible death and crash landings.”
Timeframe: Right after the MTV Movie Awards 2009
Chapter 36 of ? who the hell knows by the time I’m done.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, nor am I profiting in any way besides my torrid fantasies. And I really didn't think I'd ever write anything of this nature again after the last epic I attempted, so...we'll see. LOL
Chapter 36: Love and Other Verses
So, Rob could read a calendar. He was an intelligent guy who could make connections without me pointing them out. So I think it was fairly obvious to him what the big red circle of doom meant on a certain date. P-Day. The unfortunate day when every woman wishes she were a man for a split second, realizing then that she’d lose a brain in the swap and think with a dick. Aunt Flo Comes Visiting, On the Rag, Surfing the Crimson Wave (thanks to Clueless), My Monthly, That Time of the Month. Not that I ever actually used any of those euphemisms, because they were lame. However, they do not compare in any sense to some of the others that I had looked up one time when I was feeling particularly miserable and annoyed. I wound up laughing myself into tears in front of the computer screen. Seriously. Some other apparent used euphemisms are: Miss Scarlett's Come Home to Tara (Frankly, Scarlett, I don’t give a damn), Trolling for Vampires (Oh, you KNOW Edward was jonesing for Bella when she was bleeding. Bella, you evil-bitch-vampire-TROLL), A Dishonorable Discharge from the Uterine Navy (Abandon Ship!), Saddling Old Rusty (*snort*), Feelin' Menstru-riffic! (Are you fuckin’ kidding me?! NO ONE is this CHEERY about their fucking period), Clean-Up in Aisle One (And Two…and Three), Massacre at the Y (I don’t even…no comment), Game Day for the Crimson Tide (Dive! Dive! Dive!), Panty Shields Up, Captain! (Beam me up, Scotty!), Taking Carrie to the Prom (It was PIGS BLOOD, I tell you!), Playing Banjo in Sgt. Zygote's Ragtime Band (*hysterical laughter*), Ordering l'Omelette Rouge (Yes, we can, can, can!), Arts and Crafts Week at Panty Camp (This one time, at Band Camp), Rebooting the Ovarian Operating System (This one I actually enjoy - it’s so scientifically insulting). Some that should be retired because they’re older than the hills, besides literally, like, everything in this list already: “on your menses,” “female time,” “moon time,” “on your time,” or “on your period.” How, exactly, are you ON a period? You HAVE it. It’s something you are not ON. You are ON drugs, not ON a period, thank you. One I have to say I enjoy thoroughly, but similarly never use, is: “my uterus in revolt.” I think that sums up things quite easily and succinctly.
And Rob was, for the most part, a mature young man. At least when it came to “that time of the month” when I was “Feelin’ Menstru-riffic!” He had sisters. Any brother who has sisters is quite familiar with periods and their accompaniments. It was not a new concept to him. Maybe it was partly a European thing, too, because Rob was actually the first guy who didn’t pitch a fit over the fact that, yes, women menstruate, we have no fucking choice in the matter, and that means blood. From the vagina. It should be covered in health class. The thing about Europeans: they were much less sheltered and much more open to things involving sexuality. Nudity was common and not looked on as though it was a dirty concept, like it is in America. Or at least not in the same way. Here, it’s perfectly fine for a woman to flash her tits onscreen, be seen full frontal, and no one bats an eyelash. You still secure an R-rating. But you try to put a man in front of the camera with his dick hanging out and you have CONTROVERSY. Censorship. Because, GOD FORBID, there be a DICK onscreen for all to see when the woman he’s fucking is completely nude and writhing on the bed. No unbalance of power or subjugation or exploitation of women, nope. None here. Even my brothers, who should have been comfortable with the idea of periods, were extremely hands off and squicky when it came to any discussion of such topics.
Which was just one more reason why I loved Rob.
Because sometimes, a girl needs to talk about that. Or the circumstance of having the inconvenience of it. Or just the fact that cramps really fucking sucked, were sometimes debilitating, and would cause severe emotional reactions that the afflicted could not be held accountable for. People can kill on PMS, you know? And usually from my brothers, or even Michael on occasion, I was handed clichés as to whether I had my period or not. I was frequently asked, “Is it that time of the month” or “Christ, the PMS is starting early this month.” Not so with Mr. Pattinson. He never made any derogatory comments about PMS, periods, or anything else. And I loved his mother for that as well. Because he was truly a gentleman. A fucking sexy, deliciously devious, mischievous, adorable gentleman. Instead of making a comment, he’d ask if he could help. If I wanted chocolate or ice cream or water because he knew that actually drinking more when you were bloated and felt like a blimp made it better. He would literally get me anything I wanted, at any hour. He’d sit with me and watch really bad romantic comedies so I could cry and laugh at the same time. He’d avoid zealous attention to my breasts during sex if they were sore, and he’d actually ask. He’d lie with me on the bed and hold the heating pad for me, or spoon behind me and keep moving his legs up until I was all curled in the fetal position with him still a solid weight behind me. He’d listen to my aggravated sighs and whimpers and hold me tighter, draw me a bath and just be quiet, knowing that his presence was enough. He started making me this ginger tea because he read that it would block the effect of some scientific word that basically functioned to make muscles contract and constrict blood vessels and also was supposed to reduce inflammation. He’d bring me ibuprofen and pineapple juice because he read that it contains an enzyme that relaxes muscles. He went out and bought all these vitamins (he had a list) because he read that they were thought to reduce cramps. He made sure I ate because he read that if you kept food in the stomach, the body devoted more energy to digestion than to cramping. He read. He read meant he actually looked the shit up. He actually looked up different ways to reduce or relieve cramps.
I know he has this idea that when I was most actively taking care of him that it was completely one-sided, that he did absolutely nothing in the way of taking care of me, but he’s wrong. I didn’t have the injuries or the need for massages and shit like that, but he was still doing all these little things without really ever realizing that was what they were. Which defines him perfectly; oblivious to his many wonderful traits and conscious of the imperfections. And even if I’d never taken care of him at all, I had no doubt that he’d still be doing everything he was for me. It wasn’t quid pro quo, it was just…right.
This may be one of those too much information statements, but Rob also has no problem with sex while I have my period. In other relationships, I may as well have had the plague. It was like Week of the Pariah, like engaging in any type of sexual behavior was somehow unclean and foul or polluted. It can make a girl rather self-conscious. So, early on, I was actually quite surprised when I’d be apprehensive and confused and Rob would be all, “S’the problem?” I was so unused to actual physical attention that I sort of started to believe it’s not done. And sure, it was sometimes messy, but Rob had this towel idea going already, and he really didn’t give a shit what the lubrication was if he was getting laid. It was still just sex, and it was a hell of a stress and cramp reliever in itself. And then we could take a shower and do it all over again. He changed nothing in terms of our contact. He still put his fingers in me, he still went down on me (albeit, with some adjustments), and we still fucked like there was no difference, because there wasn’t a difference. Some people, I’m sure, are turned off by that, or would label it as gross, but it’s just a part of life and it was refreshing for it to be treated that way.
Wanna know the one thing that’s worse than having your period? Not getting it when you’re expecting to. And realizing that, despite birth control, you’ve had more sex in the last six months than your entire life combined, four times over. And then realizing that you really are not prepared for this if it’s really happening. So, I was slightly concerned. I was normally very regular and the little red circle was five days off. And I’d just had that stupid insurability physical/test shit. What would they say if their blood tests came back and they found out I was pregnant? What would that to do the movie? I could feasibly still film this entire movie because I wouldn’t have been showing, but…Christ. Every other project would be waiting, then. Eclipse would wait. Schedules would be all fucked up because of this. Too bad we weren’t filming Breaking Dawn yet - I’d fit right in! Shit. I mean, I wouldn’t be unhappy necessarily, either, but things would just have been so much easier right now if this wasn’t in the mix, too. We really didn’t need this right now. There was too much going on. I didn’t know if I could take care of Rob and a baby at the same time. And if he went back to work, then…I had no idea how he was going to handle that, I’m not sure that was a healthy environment for a newborn. I wasn’t even sure this industry was a healthy environment for a newborn. Hollywood was a brutal, vicious place. I didn’t think I wanted to raise a child in L.A. and subject them to that. The paparazzi alone were enough to make me want to move if we had a child here. All of those cameras and shouting. God, I felt sick already. And I didn’t think we were ready to be parents. We were still figuring ourselves out, what it meant to be us was still being worked on.
So, basically, there I was, in the bathroom, peeing, if you must know, and basically freaking the fuck out and wondering what I’d tell Rob, what I’d tell my parents, what I’d tell everyone - CHRIST, the MEDIA…and, magically, my fears were resolved. Questions answered. Problem solved. So I was quite…relived and audibly so. And Rob was in the bedroom and must have heard my little exclamation.
“You ok?” he called through the door.
“Yes. I am now fine.”
He chuckled, “Ok.”
And, without really thinking, I kind of blurted, “I’m good. I was late. But that’s all fixed now.”
“What?” he asked, his voice a much different tone.
Shit. So, I sort of…didn’t answer…right away…or at all.
He was quiet for a minute, but then asked, “Were you going to tell me?”
Let’s blame this next part on PMS or hormones, “Well, I was waiting. It’s not like I knew for sure, and there was no reason to say anything if it wasn’t going to amount to anything. Christ, do we have to talk about this right fucking now?”
“Well, how late were you?”
“Ugh, it doesn’t matter, Rob. It’s nothing, so there’s nothing to talk about.”
He didn’t say anything else so I assumed that he was pissed off and had left the bedroom, biding his time until he heard the flush or something and then was going to be back all up in my face and demanding and shit, like my reproductive system was half his or something.
“Do you need anything?” he asked suddenly.
I actually started a little because I thought he’d gone. “What? What do you mean?”
“Well…feminine…I don’t think there’re any tampons in the cupboard. So…do you need anything?”
Well, shit. I flushed and washed my hands. When I opened the door, he was still standing there, his finger running up and down the side of the frame. He looked slightly hurt, but he was still there, always there. And, obviously, he didn’t let that affect asking me still if I needed something. And he’d just basically offered to go to a store and actually purchase tampons for me.
I stepped into him, my arms going around his back and the side of my face pressing into his chest, “Five days.”
His arms moved to hold me.
“I was going to tell you at seven.”
He rested his cheek on top of my head and tightened his grip on me. “So, you’re not…this is a good thing.” He didn’t ask it as a question.
I sighed into his chest. “I’m not ready.”
I could feel him nod.
“But if it happened, I mean…I would still be happy.”
“Me, too,” he said, squeezing me.
I pulled back to look at him, “Are you disappointed?”
“No,” he moved my hair behind my ear. “I want you to be ready.”
“Do you think you’re ready?”
He chuckled, “I’ll probably never think I’m ready. Not really,” he smiled. “But I’d be happy. And I’d try.”
I smirked, “You’ll be fine. I’m sorry I was bitchy.”
“It’s ok.”
“No, it’s really not. I’m sorry.” I stood on my tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his lips. “And I’d tell you if I really thought I was pregnant.”
He nodded. “Ok. Good. Because I’d want to know.”
I chuckled, “I know. Of course you would.”
He ran his hands up and down my arms, “So, you’re good? You don’t need anything, then?”
“No, I’m covered. They were just buried in the cupboard. But thanks for offering. You know a guy really loves you if he’s willing to buy tampons for you.”
He smiled, “I don’t get what the big deal is actually.”
“PreCISEly why I love you,” I said, arching on my toes again to kiss him.
~ ~ ~
I thought the issue was basically closed. Rob knew that if I actually thought I was pregnant, he’d be the second to know, and I thought we were both ok with me not being pregnant. And I think he was. Because I kept asking the rest of that entire day when he suddenly got weird like an hour later. He was still normal, or as normal as Rob got, but I could tell he was thinking a lot the whole rest of the day. He didn’t answer me a lot, he didn’t engage in talking, he just sat there with that furrow in his brow, all contemplative and throwing me strange glances.
We settled into bed that night, the light had just been turned off and I had just laid my head on his chest, when he asked, “What were you afraid of?”
I didn’t need him to clarify what we were discussing, “It’s not that I was afraid. But just…everything. We have so much going on here right now. And with me going back to work, a baby does not fit into that equation.”
“So, it’s just a timing issue?”
“Basically.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means just that. I know myself. I am not ready to have a child right now. I don’t know how to raise a child.”
“I don’t think anyone knows how. You just kind of figure it out as you go along.”
“That’s really not the point, Rob. The point is that we have jobs. We have things we’ve signed up for. And we can’t throw a baby into that mix and expect that it’s just going to work itself out.”
“We could make it work.”
“Sure, we could make it work. But it would be ten times more difficult than what we have already, which is already a lot.”
“You’ve never had a problem with difficult before.”
I sighed. This was just not going anywhere. And I didn’t know if he was actually mad we weren’t going to be welcoming a little bundle of joy or that he was upset with my reaction to it.
“Are you mad because I was ok with not being pregnant? Is that what the problem is?”
He sighed, “I…I’d be happy if you were pregnant.”
“I would, too. But, just, not now. If I were, then, yes, obviously we would handle it. And I would be happy, yes. But we don’t have to be happy or sad or anything because it’s not happening. We’re talking right now about something that’s not even happening, you realize that, right?”
He let out a breath, “I just don’t understand I guess.”
“Is it a loss thing? Like, you feel like you’ve lost something?”
“Maybe.”
“But it wasn’t there to be lost, Rob.”
“I know. I just…I dunno.”
This was incredibly frustrating. Because I don’t think even he knew what we were arguing about, but he just kept trying. Like, he wouldn’t tell me what he was really upset about, but he needed to argue regardless.
“What would you have done, if you’d been pregnant?” he asked after a beat.
“I would have told you and then, I don’t…I don’t know, Rob. I guess I would have had to tell the producers and call my agent. I mean, Eclipse would have been postponed probably, everything would have been. I can’t imagine the media shit storm that would be. Can you even imagine that? I mean, from the perspective of the big Twilight Saga alone, the fact that the people playing Edward and Bella have to halt production of the rest of the series because Bella got knocked up. Mormons might revolt, Rob. This is a really touchy issue for some people. And we’re held up to this role model status, right or wrong.”
“So you care about that? You care that if we had a child, it would be compared to some stupid book series?”
I sat up, turning back to look at him, “Ugh. No, Rob. I personally do not give a shit what people think of us. I’m just saying the fallout from that happening could be huge, and it could jeopardize both of our careers. What I’m saying is that there are other things to consider here. Real life, important things.”
“I’d give it all up in a second for you.”
I touched his cheek, sighing, “I know. And that’s wonderful. It’s just…not…there’s no reason to do that because this isn’t happening.”
“So, are you saying you wouldn’t do that? You wouldn’t just walk away if it came down to your career or your family?”
“No. God, that’s not what I’m saying at all. Rob, you’re getting upset about children we’re not having. If we had a child, and I had to make that decision, then, yes, obviously I would. I would walk away.”
“Would you walk away if I asked you to?”
I narrowed my eyes at him, “Why are you doing this?”
“Just answer the question.”
“No, I want to know why. Then I’ll answer.”
“Because it’s important. It’s about commitment.”
I pulled away. “You’re questioning my commitment?” I think he knew from the tone that he’d veered into dangerous territory here.
He didn’t know what to say. And I didn’t want to look at him at the moment, either. So I decided a shower was in order.
I felt…I don’t know what I felt. I knew he was doing this for some reason, but what the reason was, I had no clue. And he wasn’t thinking when he said that. He certainly wasn’t thinking in terms of what had been going on for the last few months. He just said it in the context of the argument, but…way to fuck up the thinking process there. The water was blessedly hot and I wanted it to wash this entire evening away. Maybe the entire day. A huge part of me really wished I’d kept my mouth shut earlier. That he’d never heard me and my gigantic, sighed exclamation of relief. Then none of this would have happened, because he would have been none the wiser. Another part was glad he heard, but I’m not sure why I could say I felt that way. I couldn’t, and really didn’t want to, stop the tears that started coming. They weren’t huge and sobbing kind of tears, just the releasing kind.
I really didn’t feel like washing, I just wanted to stand under the spray and get away from him for a while. I just wanted the feeling of the water, the heat, the steam. I sighed when there was a knock on the shower door. Who knocks on a shower?
I snorted, “Yes?”
“Can I come in please?”
I debated a minute, but he knocked on a shower and he said please. “Yeah.”
The door opened and closed, but I didn’t turn around. And I tried to control the fact that I was half-smirking because I knew he was standing back there not knowing really what the fuck he was supposed to do now that he’d actually gained entrance. But I wasn’t helping him here, either. He dug himself into this ditch, he could shovel himself out.
“Do you normally let assholes into showers with you?”
“If they say ‘please.’”
He pressed into my back, his mouth kissing my shoulder, his hands going around my waist. “I’m sorry, Kristen. I don’t question your commitment, and it was a really horrible thing for me to say.”
“Yeah, it was.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
“Do you think you can forgive me?”
“Are you going to tell me why you won’t let this go?”
He rested his head on my shoulder. He owed me this much I think.
“I don’t know…I think I just…I have this image of us, where the outside world just doesn’t even touch us, and I don’t…I have a hard time reconciling that with the real world, then. The world I want where everything fits, and the world that exists where things aren’t always going to.”
I turned around, my hands going to his face. I kissed him softly, “It’s not wrong to want that. And I’m glad you do. And I think we can have that, too, to a certain extent. I think you and I always have - this bubble that no one else can touch. But the bubble still lives in the world, too. Or, at least, it does for now.”
“I know.”
“And we have to deal with that.”
“I know. I still don’t have to like that we have to live in it.”
I chuckled, “No, you don’t have to like it. I don’t like it, either, but it’s where we are. We’ll be ok where we are as long as we don’t let it pull us apart.”
“I don’t want to lose you.”
He sounded so…like he thought he was going to. His voice broke in the middle, and he looked down instead of at my face and I made him bring his head back up, “You’re not going to. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
He nodded and buried his head in my neck and we both just stood under the spray and held each other, letting the argument just wash away. Eventually I turned around to get shampoo, deciding that physical washing might be good for us, too, but he stopped my hand and brought it back, putting it behind his head, and pulled my hips back into him, folding his hands over my stomach. I cupped the back of his head and turned mine to look at him, wondering if he still needed contact or comfort, but he answered my wordless question, “Can I make it up to you?”
I smiled at him sideways, “You don’t need to.”
“I need to. I want to.”
I nodded and his hands started wandering, making treks up and down my body, my arms, over my breasts while his mouth placed gentle and reverent kisses along my shoulders and neck. His knee pressed between my legs and I widened my stance, one hand still holding onto his neck, my head falling back to his shoulder.
His fingers were light and tender wherever they went, circling over my wet strip before his fingers slipped lower into my folds. His teeth clamped gently on my earlobe when his middle finger ran through the wetness, up and down, and then inside. That satisfied him enough that I was ready, and I wasn’t complaining; I think I needed him inside me now just as much as he needed to be there. His hand splayed over my stomach and he leaned me forward slightly while aligning himself, then pulled me back when he started pushing inside. My hand went out to the shower wall to hold me up as I felt him stretch me, moans filling the misty hue of the space.
He pushed in as far as the position would allow and then he was thrusting right after. Soft and mellow thrusts, soft caresses, his mouth and his tongue never leaving my neck and shoulders, or some part of my back. His hands were affectionate and full of caresses and assurance. This was quiet love. The sweetest kind of apology, a sexual act of contrition, an assurance of regret and a promise of renewal and rejuvenation. We wouldn’t worry about this in the morning, it was settled right here.
A/N: Thanks to the usuals. You know who you are and I luff you guyz.
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7a Chapter 7b Chapter 8 Chapter 9a Chapter 9b Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17a Chapter 17b Chapter 18a Chapter 18b Chapter 19a Chapter 19b Chapter 19c Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37
Author: shadow_walker3
Pairing: Kristen Stewart/Robert Pattinson rpf (written in KPOV)
Rating: I believe I’m incapable of writing anything less than R or NC-17, so this is no exception, but I’m incapable of also writing porn without plot (just ask my friends). One day though…I’ll succeed.
Warnings: Other than the above, I can’t really think of any…unless you have a really weak stomach.
Summary: I will preface all summaries by saying that I enjoy injured men. I have since I was about eight years old. I cannot explain, nor do I promote the injuring of men; however, there will be no complaint from me if they are. For some reason, I find them hotter when injured. I believe it to be some sort of Florence Nightingale complex, where the need to then take care of them takes over and…I have no idea - they’re just hotter, ok? So to get to the actual summary, which is longer now than it should be, I finally just asked my friend/beta/lover/wife/hetero-life partner, Kaia what the hell the summary should be and she said: “It’s a story about how a plane crash brings people together (she doesn’t write for Hallmark, I swear), like a bat mitzvah, but less fun - with less dancing and relatives and food and more snow and possible death and crash landings.”
Timeframe: Right after the MTV Movie Awards 2009
Chapter 36 of ? who the hell knows by the time I’m done.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, nor am I profiting in any way besides my torrid fantasies. And I really didn't think I'd ever write anything of this nature again after the last epic I attempted, so...we'll see. LOL
Chapter 36: Love and Other Verses
So, Rob could read a calendar. He was an intelligent guy who could make connections without me pointing them out. So I think it was fairly obvious to him what the big red circle of doom meant on a certain date. P-Day. The unfortunate day when every woman wishes she were a man for a split second, realizing then that she’d lose a brain in the swap and think with a dick. Aunt Flo Comes Visiting, On the Rag, Surfing the Crimson Wave (thanks to Clueless), My Monthly, That Time of the Month. Not that I ever actually used any of those euphemisms, because they were lame. However, they do not compare in any sense to some of the others that I had looked up one time when I was feeling particularly miserable and annoyed. I wound up laughing myself into tears in front of the computer screen. Seriously. Some other apparent used euphemisms are: Miss Scarlett's Come Home to Tara (Frankly, Scarlett, I don’t give a damn), Trolling for Vampires (Oh, you KNOW Edward was jonesing for Bella when she was bleeding. Bella, you evil-bitch-vampire-TROLL), A Dishonorable Discharge from the Uterine Navy (Abandon Ship!), Saddling Old Rusty (*snort*), Feelin' Menstru-riffic! (Are you fuckin’ kidding me?! NO ONE is this CHEERY about their fucking period), Clean-Up in Aisle One (And Two…and Three), Massacre at the Y (I don’t even…no comment), Game Day for the Crimson Tide (Dive! Dive! Dive!), Panty Shields Up, Captain! (Beam me up, Scotty!), Taking Carrie to the Prom (It was PIGS BLOOD, I tell you!), Playing Banjo in Sgt. Zygote's Ragtime Band (*hysterical laughter*), Ordering l'Omelette Rouge (Yes, we can, can, can!), Arts and Crafts Week at Panty Camp (This one time, at Band Camp), Rebooting the Ovarian Operating System (This one I actually enjoy - it’s so scientifically insulting). Some that should be retired because they’re older than the hills, besides literally, like, everything in this list already: “on your menses,” “female time,” “moon time,” “on your time,” or “on your period.” How, exactly, are you ON a period? You HAVE it. It’s something you are not ON. You are ON drugs, not ON a period, thank you. One I have to say I enjoy thoroughly, but similarly never use, is: “my uterus in revolt.” I think that sums up things quite easily and succinctly.
And Rob was, for the most part, a mature young man. At least when it came to “that time of the month” when I was “Feelin’ Menstru-riffic!” He had sisters. Any brother who has sisters is quite familiar with periods and their accompaniments. It was not a new concept to him. Maybe it was partly a European thing, too, because Rob was actually the first guy who didn’t pitch a fit over the fact that, yes, women menstruate, we have no fucking choice in the matter, and that means blood. From the vagina. It should be covered in health class. The thing about Europeans: they were much less sheltered and much more open to things involving sexuality. Nudity was common and not looked on as though it was a dirty concept, like it is in America. Or at least not in the same way. Here, it’s perfectly fine for a woman to flash her tits onscreen, be seen full frontal, and no one bats an eyelash. You still secure an R-rating. But you try to put a man in front of the camera with his dick hanging out and you have CONTROVERSY. Censorship. Because, GOD FORBID, there be a DICK onscreen for all to see when the woman he’s fucking is completely nude and writhing on the bed. No unbalance of power or subjugation or exploitation of women, nope. None here. Even my brothers, who should have been comfortable with the idea of periods, were extremely hands off and squicky when it came to any discussion of such topics.
Which was just one more reason why I loved Rob.
Because sometimes, a girl needs to talk about that. Or the circumstance of having the inconvenience of it. Or just the fact that cramps really fucking sucked, were sometimes debilitating, and would cause severe emotional reactions that the afflicted could not be held accountable for. People can kill on PMS, you know? And usually from my brothers, or even Michael on occasion, I was handed clichés as to whether I had my period or not. I was frequently asked, “Is it that time of the month” or “Christ, the PMS is starting early this month.” Not so with Mr. Pattinson. He never made any derogatory comments about PMS, periods, or anything else. And I loved his mother for that as well. Because he was truly a gentleman. A fucking sexy, deliciously devious, mischievous, adorable gentleman. Instead of making a comment, he’d ask if he could help. If I wanted chocolate or ice cream or water because he knew that actually drinking more when you were bloated and felt like a blimp made it better. He would literally get me anything I wanted, at any hour. He’d sit with me and watch really bad romantic comedies so I could cry and laugh at the same time. He’d avoid zealous attention to my breasts during sex if they were sore, and he’d actually ask. He’d lie with me on the bed and hold the heating pad for me, or spoon behind me and keep moving his legs up until I was all curled in the fetal position with him still a solid weight behind me. He’d listen to my aggravated sighs and whimpers and hold me tighter, draw me a bath and just be quiet, knowing that his presence was enough. He started making me this ginger tea because he read that it would block the effect of some scientific word that basically functioned to make muscles contract and constrict blood vessels and also was supposed to reduce inflammation. He’d bring me ibuprofen and pineapple juice because he read that it contains an enzyme that relaxes muscles. He went out and bought all these vitamins (he had a list) because he read that they were thought to reduce cramps. He made sure I ate because he read that if you kept food in the stomach, the body devoted more energy to digestion than to cramping. He read. He read meant he actually looked the shit up. He actually looked up different ways to reduce or relieve cramps.
I know he has this idea that when I was most actively taking care of him that it was completely one-sided, that he did absolutely nothing in the way of taking care of me, but he’s wrong. I didn’t have the injuries or the need for massages and shit like that, but he was still doing all these little things without really ever realizing that was what they were. Which defines him perfectly; oblivious to his many wonderful traits and conscious of the imperfections. And even if I’d never taken care of him at all, I had no doubt that he’d still be doing everything he was for me. It wasn’t quid pro quo, it was just…right.
This may be one of those too much information statements, but Rob also has no problem with sex while I have my period. In other relationships, I may as well have had the plague. It was like Week of the Pariah, like engaging in any type of sexual behavior was somehow unclean and foul or polluted. It can make a girl rather self-conscious. So, early on, I was actually quite surprised when I’d be apprehensive and confused and Rob would be all, “S’the problem?” I was so unused to actual physical attention that I sort of started to believe it’s not done. And sure, it was sometimes messy, but Rob had this towel idea going already, and he really didn’t give a shit what the lubrication was if he was getting laid. It was still just sex, and it was a hell of a stress and cramp reliever in itself. And then we could take a shower and do it all over again. He changed nothing in terms of our contact. He still put his fingers in me, he still went down on me (albeit, with some adjustments), and we still fucked like there was no difference, because there wasn’t a difference. Some people, I’m sure, are turned off by that, or would label it as gross, but it’s just a part of life and it was refreshing for it to be treated that way.
Wanna know the one thing that’s worse than having your period? Not getting it when you’re expecting to. And realizing that, despite birth control, you’ve had more sex in the last six months than your entire life combined, four times over. And then realizing that you really are not prepared for this if it’s really happening. So, I was slightly concerned. I was normally very regular and the little red circle was five days off. And I’d just had that stupid insurability physical/test shit. What would they say if their blood tests came back and they found out I was pregnant? What would that to do the movie? I could feasibly still film this entire movie because I wouldn’t have been showing, but…Christ. Every other project would be waiting, then. Eclipse would wait. Schedules would be all fucked up because of this. Too bad we weren’t filming Breaking Dawn yet - I’d fit right in! Shit. I mean, I wouldn’t be unhappy necessarily, either, but things would just have been so much easier right now if this wasn’t in the mix, too. We really didn’t need this right now. There was too much going on. I didn’t know if I could take care of Rob and a baby at the same time. And if he went back to work, then…I had no idea how he was going to handle that, I’m not sure that was a healthy environment for a newborn. I wasn’t even sure this industry was a healthy environment for a newborn. Hollywood was a brutal, vicious place. I didn’t think I wanted to raise a child in L.A. and subject them to that. The paparazzi alone were enough to make me want to move if we had a child here. All of those cameras and shouting. God, I felt sick already. And I didn’t think we were ready to be parents. We were still figuring ourselves out, what it meant to be us was still being worked on.
So, basically, there I was, in the bathroom, peeing, if you must know, and basically freaking the fuck out and wondering what I’d tell Rob, what I’d tell my parents, what I’d tell everyone - CHRIST, the MEDIA…and, magically, my fears were resolved. Questions answered. Problem solved. So I was quite…relived and audibly so. And Rob was in the bedroom and must have heard my little exclamation.
“You ok?” he called through the door.
“Yes. I am now fine.”
He chuckled, “Ok.”
And, without really thinking, I kind of blurted, “I’m good. I was late. But that’s all fixed now.”
“What?” he asked, his voice a much different tone.
Shit. So, I sort of…didn’t answer…right away…or at all.
He was quiet for a minute, but then asked, “Were you going to tell me?”
Let’s blame this next part on PMS or hormones, “Well, I was waiting. It’s not like I knew for sure, and there was no reason to say anything if it wasn’t going to amount to anything. Christ, do we have to talk about this right fucking now?”
“Well, how late were you?”
“Ugh, it doesn’t matter, Rob. It’s nothing, so there’s nothing to talk about.”
He didn’t say anything else so I assumed that he was pissed off and had left the bedroom, biding his time until he heard the flush or something and then was going to be back all up in my face and demanding and shit, like my reproductive system was half his or something.
“Do you need anything?” he asked suddenly.
I actually started a little because I thought he’d gone. “What? What do you mean?”
“Well…feminine…I don’t think there’re any tampons in the cupboard. So…do you need anything?”
Well, shit. I flushed and washed my hands. When I opened the door, he was still standing there, his finger running up and down the side of the frame. He looked slightly hurt, but he was still there, always there. And, obviously, he didn’t let that affect asking me still if I needed something. And he’d just basically offered to go to a store and actually purchase tampons for me.
I stepped into him, my arms going around his back and the side of my face pressing into his chest, “Five days.”
His arms moved to hold me.
“I was going to tell you at seven.”
He rested his cheek on top of my head and tightened his grip on me. “So, you’re not…this is a good thing.” He didn’t ask it as a question.
I sighed into his chest. “I’m not ready.”
I could feel him nod.
“But if it happened, I mean…I would still be happy.”
“Me, too,” he said, squeezing me.
I pulled back to look at him, “Are you disappointed?”
“No,” he moved my hair behind my ear. “I want you to be ready.”
“Do you think you’re ready?”
He chuckled, “I’ll probably never think I’m ready. Not really,” he smiled. “But I’d be happy. And I’d try.”
I smirked, “You’ll be fine. I’m sorry I was bitchy.”
“It’s ok.”
“No, it’s really not. I’m sorry.” I stood on my tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his lips. “And I’d tell you if I really thought I was pregnant.”
He nodded. “Ok. Good. Because I’d want to know.”
I chuckled, “I know. Of course you would.”
He ran his hands up and down my arms, “So, you’re good? You don’t need anything, then?”
“No, I’m covered. They were just buried in the cupboard. But thanks for offering. You know a guy really loves you if he’s willing to buy tampons for you.”
He smiled, “I don’t get what the big deal is actually.”
“PreCISEly why I love you,” I said, arching on my toes again to kiss him.
~ ~ ~
I thought the issue was basically closed. Rob knew that if I actually thought I was pregnant, he’d be the second to know, and I thought we were both ok with me not being pregnant. And I think he was. Because I kept asking the rest of that entire day when he suddenly got weird like an hour later. He was still normal, or as normal as Rob got, but I could tell he was thinking a lot the whole rest of the day. He didn’t answer me a lot, he didn’t engage in talking, he just sat there with that furrow in his brow, all contemplative and throwing me strange glances.
We settled into bed that night, the light had just been turned off and I had just laid my head on his chest, when he asked, “What were you afraid of?”
I didn’t need him to clarify what we were discussing, “It’s not that I was afraid. But just…everything. We have so much going on here right now. And with me going back to work, a baby does not fit into that equation.”
“So, it’s just a timing issue?”
“Basically.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means just that. I know myself. I am not ready to have a child right now. I don’t know how to raise a child.”
“I don’t think anyone knows how. You just kind of figure it out as you go along.”
“That’s really not the point, Rob. The point is that we have jobs. We have things we’ve signed up for. And we can’t throw a baby into that mix and expect that it’s just going to work itself out.”
“We could make it work.”
“Sure, we could make it work. But it would be ten times more difficult than what we have already, which is already a lot.”
“You’ve never had a problem with difficult before.”
I sighed. This was just not going anywhere. And I didn’t know if he was actually mad we weren’t going to be welcoming a little bundle of joy or that he was upset with my reaction to it.
“Are you mad because I was ok with not being pregnant? Is that what the problem is?”
He sighed, “I…I’d be happy if you were pregnant.”
“I would, too. But, just, not now. If I were, then, yes, obviously we would handle it. And I would be happy, yes. But we don’t have to be happy or sad or anything because it’s not happening. We’re talking right now about something that’s not even happening, you realize that, right?”
He let out a breath, “I just don’t understand I guess.”
“Is it a loss thing? Like, you feel like you’ve lost something?”
“Maybe.”
“But it wasn’t there to be lost, Rob.”
“I know. I just…I dunno.”
This was incredibly frustrating. Because I don’t think even he knew what we were arguing about, but he just kept trying. Like, he wouldn’t tell me what he was really upset about, but he needed to argue regardless.
“What would you have done, if you’d been pregnant?” he asked after a beat.
“I would have told you and then, I don’t…I don’t know, Rob. I guess I would have had to tell the producers and call my agent. I mean, Eclipse would have been postponed probably, everything would have been. I can’t imagine the media shit storm that would be. Can you even imagine that? I mean, from the perspective of the big Twilight Saga alone, the fact that the people playing Edward and Bella have to halt production of the rest of the series because Bella got knocked up. Mormons might revolt, Rob. This is a really touchy issue for some people. And we’re held up to this role model status, right or wrong.”
“So you care about that? You care that if we had a child, it would be compared to some stupid book series?”
I sat up, turning back to look at him, “Ugh. No, Rob. I personally do not give a shit what people think of us. I’m just saying the fallout from that happening could be huge, and it could jeopardize both of our careers. What I’m saying is that there are other things to consider here. Real life, important things.”
“I’d give it all up in a second for you.”
I touched his cheek, sighing, “I know. And that’s wonderful. It’s just…not…there’s no reason to do that because this isn’t happening.”
“So, are you saying you wouldn’t do that? You wouldn’t just walk away if it came down to your career or your family?”
“No. God, that’s not what I’m saying at all. Rob, you’re getting upset about children we’re not having. If we had a child, and I had to make that decision, then, yes, obviously I would. I would walk away.”
“Would you walk away if I asked you to?”
I narrowed my eyes at him, “Why are you doing this?”
“Just answer the question.”
“No, I want to know why. Then I’ll answer.”
“Because it’s important. It’s about commitment.”
I pulled away. “You’re questioning my commitment?” I think he knew from the tone that he’d veered into dangerous territory here.
He didn’t know what to say. And I didn’t want to look at him at the moment, either. So I decided a shower was in order.
I felt…I don’t know what I felt. I knew he was doing this for some reason, but what the reason was, I had no clue. And he wasn’t thinking when he said that. He certainly wasn’t thinking in terms of what had been going on for the last few months. He just said it in the context of the argument, but…way to fuck up the thinking process there. The water was blessedly hot and I wanted it to wash this entire evening away. Maybe the entire day. A huge part of me really wished I’d kept my mouth shut earlier. That he’d never heard me and my gigantic, sighed exclamation of relief. Then none of this would have happened, because he would have been none the wiser. Another part was glad he heard, but I’m not sure why I could say I felt that way. I couldn’t, and really didn’t want to, stop the tears that started coming. They weren’t huge and sobbing kind of tears, just the releasing kind.
I really didn’t feel like washing, I just wanted to stand under the spray and get away from him for a while. I just wanted the feeling of the water, the heat, the steam. I sighed when there was a knock on the shower door. Who knocks on a shower?
I snorted, “Yes?”
“Can I come in please?”
I debated a minute, but he knocked on a shower and he said please. “Yeah.”
The door opened and closed, but I didn’t turn around. And I tried to control the fact that I was half-smirking because I knew he was standing back there not knowing really what the fuck he was supposed to do now that he’d actually gained entrance. But I wasn’t helping him here, either. He dug himself into this ditch, he could shovel himself out.
“Do you normally let assholes into showers with you?”
“If they say ‘please.’”
He pressed into my back, his mouth kissing my shoulder, his hands going around my waist. “I’m sorry, Kristen. I don’t question your commitment, and it was a really horrible thing for me to say.”
“Yeah, it was.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
“Do you think you can forgive me?”
“Are you going to tell me why you won’t let this go?”
He rested his head on my shoulder. He owed me this much I think.
“I don’t know…I think I just…I have this image of us, where the outside world just doesn’t even touch us, and I don’t…I have a hard time reconciling that with the real world, then. The world I want where everything fits, and the world that exists where things aren’t always going to.”
I turned around, my hands going to his face. I kissed him softly, “It’s not wrong to want that. And I’m glad you do. And I think we can have that, too, to a certain extent. I think you and I always have - this bubble that no one else can touch. But the bubble still lives in the world, too. Or, at least, it does for now.”
“I know.”
“And we have to deal with that.”
“I know. I still don’t have to like that we have to live in it.”
I chuckled, “No, you don’t have to like it. I don’t like it, either, but it’s where we are. We’ll be ok where we are as long as we don’t let it pull us apart.”
“I don’t want to lose you.”
He sounded so…like he thought he was going to. His voice broke in the middle, and he looked down instead of at my face and I made him bring his head back up, “You’re not going to. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
He nodded and buried his head in my neck and we both just stood under the spray and held each other, letting the argument just wash away. Eventually I turned around to get shampoo, deciding that physical washing might be good for us, too, but he stopped my hand and brought it back, putting it behind his head, and pulled my hips back into him, folding his hands over my stomach. I cupped the back of his head and turned mine to look at him, wondering if he still needed contact or comfort, but he answered my wordless question, “Can I make it up to you?”
I smiled at him sideways, “You don’t need to.”
“I need to. I want to.”
I nodded and his hands started wandering, making treks up and down my body, my arms, over my breasts while his mouth placed gentle and reverent kisses along my shoulders and neck. His knee pressed between my legs and I widened my stance, one hand still holding onto his neck, my head falling back to his shoulder.
His fingers were light and tender wherever they went, circling over my wet strip before his fingers slipped lower into my folds. His teeth clamped gently on my earlobe when his middle finger ran through the wetness, up and down, and then inside. That satisfied him enough that I was ready, and I wasn’t complaining; I think I needed him inside me now just as much as he needed to be there. His hand splayed over my stomach and he leaned me forward slightly while aligning himself, then pulled me back when he started pushing inside. My hand went out to the shower wall to hold me up as I felt him stretch me, moans filling the misty hue of the space.
He pushed in as far as the position would allow and then he was thrusting right after. Soft and mellow thrusts, soft caresses, his mouth and his tongue never leaving my neck and shoulders, or some part of my back. His hands were affectionate and full of caresses and assurance. This was quiet love. The sweetest kind of apology, a sexual act of contrition, an assurance of regret and a promise of renewal and rejuvenation. We wouldn’t worry about this in the morning, it was settled right here.
A/N: Thanks to the usuals. You know who you are and I luff you guyz.
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7a Chapter 7b Chapter 8 Chapter 9a Chapter 9b Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17a Chapter 17b Chapter 18a Chapter 18b Chapter 19a Chapter 19b Chapter 19c Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37