Ruthless and Ivory (Twilight Fan Fiction)

Chapter 8: Bare

Chap 8 - Bare

Soft fingertips. My mother had pretty hands. I'd hold her hand and run a fingertip over her long nails. The pale pink polish was perfect over every rounded end. Feminine and soft, yet strong. They kept my hands tightly folded in hers. Her hands were one of many things I didn't inherit from her. But they were the one thing I wish I had. Just to see a bit of her in me.

Every stroke of her palms on my arm or hair would wake me every morning. And I couldn't help but awake without a struggle. I knew the day would be special. She would do that.

Is it her again?

I'm dreaming of her. Her hands are gentle. But this time she squeezes my small hand in hers. Her knuckles turn white from the tension. Her fear radiates. I feel it through her palm. She's trying to tell me something.

My mind defogs from its slumber.

Her hands turn to rough ones. It isn't her.

They trail over my hip, thigh, leg, and ankle. Rough fingers wrap around it. A thumb runs circles over the bone there.

My eyes struggle to open. The bright sun burns a red glow through my eyelids. The dream vanishes. My ankle twitches. Rough fingers let go.

But they appear again. They lift my chin off the warm pillow. Cold air seeps over my warm redden skin. My lids tighten.

Right...left...right again. A palm turns my face side to side. The rough thumb moves in a circle again-this time over my cheek. My eyes flutter open.

I gasp.

"Shh, quiet," Edward hushes. He hovers over me perched on the side of the bed. A hint of mint in his breath hits my eyes making them blink. My chest tightens. This isn't part of the dream. I watch his lips close inches away. His eyes focused but not on mine. I watch his pale jade iris's moving over my cheeks and chin. His hand moves to my neck. His hair dips over his forehead. A wild lock hovers between us. I watch it moves from my deep breaths.

I forgot where I am. My stomach tightens.

Gently, he pushes the taped gauze away from the cut he shaped with his knife. I hiss. His finger pokes too closely to the opening. The back of my hand instinctively lifts. I slap the side of his away. Just as quickly, he slaps back at my knuckles harder. This provokes an automatic reflex at the flick from my wrist. Our hands fumble in a fight.

I blink at the sudden movement. He grabs my palm and bends it back. My fingers point towards my face. He squeezes and elicits pain from my wrist. "Ah!" I shout squeezing my eyes shut.

He doesn't speak. His face is hard as he watches me squirm.

"Ok, ok!" I plead, my brows nit with anger. He lets go. His fingers find my wound again and continue examining. Unaffected. I exhale rubbing my wrist. Asshole.

I watch him from the corner of my eye, wondering why he's doing this. The weight of his torso is practically on mine to reach my side. My heart doesn't fail as it races in anticipation of what he'll do next. I think of every vulgar curse that suits him perfectly...and repeat.

I'm on my stomach wondering how I was flipped so fast. The wool sheet half covering me twists around my legs. His hand runs over on my bare back. He pushes the hood away. His warm palm brushes my hair up, revealing the back of my neck. His other thumb rubs firm circles over my nape.

He sighs.

"Up," he commands suddenly. I feel the bed shift. I turn my head only to look up at him. He's standing beside the bed with the same clothes from the night before. Knives still hitched to his side. His hair looks tousled beyond control. It looks on fire from the sunlight coming in through the damned windows. I squint. But the circles under his eyes are obvious and deep. He never slept.