Beautiful Disaster

"Edward, please, for me, talk to Jazz. Or if you don’t wanna talk, just listen to what he has to say. You really need to hear this, because nothing I could say would make sense any other way."

"You could just tell me."

"Certainly not," she scoffs, then actually whirls around when she sees me open my mouth to add another insult. "Of course I could, but I’m so done dealing with other people’s shit, I’m not going to let him off the hook and resolve this for him. Man up, listen to him, that’s all I’m asking of you. And then we can have our talk."

Her words come out with a finality that I can’t protest, but instead of reaching for the clothes I get up and stalk towards the bathroom.

"What the f**k do you think you’re doing?" she shouts after me, and I hear her light footfalls follow.

I’ve already reached the door to the adjacent room when I feel her hand on my arm, her grip surprisingly strong, but before she can pull me around I turn to her, nearly unbalancing her with the unexpected motion. Seething down at her I wait until she’s looking into my eyes before I open my mouth to speak.

"I’m going to take a shower first, because I’m not going to have that kind of conversation with your sweat and cunt juice all over my cock."

She lets go of me so fast as if I’d slapped her, and whatever strength of will has kept her temper in check until now is not enough to keep doing so. Her cheeks darken with anger, and a low growl echoes forth between her clenched teeth.

"You f**king ass**le!"

With that she whips around and stomps out, throwing the door closed behind her with a loud ‘whack’ that could have raised the dead. I’m too mad myself to really care just now.

The hot water is scalding my skin but I don’t really notice, the turmoil inside of me too strong for much else to intrude into my unhappy bubble. My main problem is that once the most superficial anger evaporates along with the outer layers of my skin, common sense kicks back in and makes me feel foolish on top of everything else. Turning the temperature to something that won’t boil me like a lobster I grab the body wash, then spend a lot more time just standing in the warm spray than it takes for the suds to be cleaned off. I don’t turn when I hear the bathroom door creak open and close again in quick succession, but when I finally shut off the water and step out, I’m not surprised to find a neat bundle of my previously ignored clothes resting just inside the door, with a steaming mug of coffee beside it. The gesture is so typical for Bella – although she must still be raging mad at me, she knows that overworked and sleep deprived as I am, I need something to clear my head – that for a moment I feel like bashing my head repeatedly against the wall for shouting at her. I’m also sure that she’s counting on causing that very reaction inside of me so I will do what she wants – but that doesn’t change the genuine care it shows. And I know she only means the best – and if memory serves well, she usually is right, too.

I take my time toweling off, then stare at my reflection in the mirror until the part I’ve haphazardly wiped clean is fogged over again.

I really don’t want to talk. I don’t want to get dressed, don’t want to drink my coffee, don’t want to hear anything that Jazz has to say, nor do I want to talk with Bella about it. I just want to go back to bed, curl up and sleep, and when I wake again I want to pretend it all never happened and I can just go on with life as it is.

But I know I can’t do that – and not just because Bella won’t let me. I know that I have to man up and act like a responsible adult, and responsible adults don’t run from conflicts.

I’ve clearly idled too long as a soft knock sounds on the door when I’m just done getting into my underwear, and I hurry to pull on the sweat pants.

"Are you decent?" Bella’s voice chimes through the wood, the forced lightness of her tone telling plainly that she’s still pissed.

"All the clothes in the world won’t make me decent, but I’m dressed, if that’s what you wanna know," I shout as I wrench the t-shirt over my head. There is a telltale pause, then I hear Bella’s voice again, only lower as she doesn’t talk to me.

"Go in. I don’t think he’s going to come out on his own any time soon, and I don’t think it will help your cause much if we have to drag him out kicking and screaming."

I’m glad the door is still closed as I can’t hide a grin at that, even though I’m still frowning, followed by a snort at Jasper’s answer.

"Maybe I should just talk to him later. Maybe he doesn’t want to talk right now."

"Of course he doesn’t want to talk! But I’m done waiting for you muleheaded idiots to be ready to have your talks on your own time! I’ll be old and gray until you get to anything by yourselves!"

"Do you think now is a good time to quote Robert Jordan -"

"Get the f**k in there, or I swear to everything that is holy, I will punch and kick you through that door, and we both know that you’re too much of a wuss to hit me back, so just do it! Now!"

As much as I’m dreading what’s to come listening to their exchange is incredibly amusing, and I have to actively wipe the mirth off my face when the door finally creaks open. Hiding the last of my somewhat wry grin behind the coffee mug I watch as Jazz enters, eyeing Bella warily over his shoulder the whole time. She takes a moment to stare at me balefully before she reaches for the door.

"Don’t even think of coming out of there until you’re done. Unless you need an ambulance, but then you can just holler down to where I’ll be waiting in the living room."

Then she slams the door shut, the sound as ominous as her words. Jazz keeps staring at the closed door for a few seconds longer before he turns to me, clearly unwilling to catch my gaze but not backing down, either. I have no idea whether I’m glaring at him or not as my mind is completely wiped clean of any thought or emotion, and finally he harrumphs.

"Look, I really didn’t know you were going at it just now, hell, I didn’t even know you were there, Bella said you’ll probably have to stay at the hospital until late, and -"

"I don’t think that’s the point of this conversation right now," I interrupt him, a little surprised just how neutral I’m sounding.

Jazz blinks, then clears his throat again.

"Guess not. But it’s a start to try to explain that I’m not out to break the two of you up with my most malicious schemes, or some shit like that. Because I’m not. And there are no schemes."

Seeing him ramble nervously like that strangely eases me, and while neither the anger nor frustration go away, I feel a little less apprehensive about this.

"Just tell me what Bella thinks I need to hear. Because clearly the Cerberus huffing in the living room downstairs won’t let either of us out of here if we don’t get this over with."

"Easier said than done," he retorts.

"Always is."

Jazz falls silent for a moment, then leans back against the wall next to the towel rack, probably in an attempt to either look casual or assume a more comfortable position, but tensed up as he is it doesn’t seem he achieves either. I take another sip from my coffee before I sit down on the counter, not exactly coincidentally where I’ve last f**ked Bella without the universe trying to spoil our fun.

"So," he starts, but then doesn’t go on, momentarily lost in studying the tiles on the floor. I let him stew for a while until my patience is threatening to disappear with the last bit of coffee.

"So?"

He finally looks up at me again and swallows thickly, and if it wasn’t such an awkward moment, the way he’s visibly trying to steel himself might have actually been rather amusing.