Descripción de ECI

##### ##### ##### ##### ##### ##### ##### ##### ##### ##### ##### ##### ##### ##### ##### ##### #####

##### ##### ##### ##### ##### ##### ##### #####

Chapter: 21

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight.

STAMPEDE OF A THOUSAND PULSES 21. Complete

I swing my legs from the wall, waiting for my friend to arrive. I miss him. Emmett is sweet and caring. We will never be more than friends, I will never be attracted to him, but I will love his heart, his soul, his ways and his warmth.

He appears, a shy smile on his face. He looks okay, not broken or angst ridden. He looks fine to me. But I don't want to jump ahead of myself and so as soon as we are caught up in a hug I ask, "How are you?"

"I'm cool Bella," he replies, hands brushing hair from my face. He cups my cheeks and kisses my forehead. "How are you?"

"I'm cool Emmett," I say, in a way that is playful, and all of a sudden our timidity is broken and we are back to normality. He grins and tells me he's getting a promotion. He looks at me sometimes, a slight wandering eye—but I don't flinch or let on.

I squeeze his hand and tell him there's a curvy blond eyeing him from behind the desk. He mumbles something about mixing work with pleasure and we both giggle. The woman looks away with wistful eyes and I gesture back.

"She likes you."

He sighs, "You don't have to roll me off to the nearest girl… I'm not gonna pounce on you, you know…"

I feel bad, but this wasn't my intention so I straighten up. "I know. I wouldn't do that."

"Good," he retorts, and then a sly grin appears. "And for your information—I noticed."

Edward is confused. Not about me. About school. He is fine academically. Drugs have not fried him—but he is still unsure. I realize this as he shakes, taking my hands in his, confessing that he's not as astute concerning his career path as he had thought.

For a short while I feel bonded, there have been times I have been the same. But I am pretty sure I'll get a job in a museum some where. I love art, but it hordes my limits. Artists are poorly paid. I paint but not in a way that is special, and so writing and teaching is deemed a better choice.

I tell Edward this and his face brightens. "You figured it out?"

I shrug and smile. "I wouldn't mind preserving the works of others."

He kisses my knuckles. "As long as you're happy."

I frown. "But what about you?"

And then he tells me, and my stomach drops. South Africa? I want to grab a hold of him just to see if it will keep him here. My head spins in indignation. I want to be mad and furious. I want to whine and complain. I want to be so self indulgent and clingy.

But I just sit there, thrusting a hole into the comfortable sweat shirt I wear. Thinking that maybe if I stretch the material enough Edward will look at it once I take it off and realize I am as anxious and needy as ever.

He smiles at me.

I melt and drop tense shoulders.

And in a way I understand. I get that this is the new version of him. He's searching for some type of fulfillment, trying to see if bettering the lives of the less fortunate will fill up his cavities. It makes me feel small. I shouldn't hate this decision.

It can't always be about us.

And after all, that is what got us into this mess; it being about desire and want and neediness. Sex and lust and drugs and attention… it did no good. The only purity is the love we happened to stumble upon, and all of the above are just, things—things that are easily replaced by other things.

"I'll be fine," he tells me, after I profess my worry for his safety. And so I grab, greedily at his skin pressing his hand to my face, wishing I could feel him all around me, forever and ever and…

God, I love him.

I want to tell him this, but I keep my mouth shut. Love is something you show. And so I show it. I nod and understand and let him air his heart. Its understanding—not self obsessed.

And then I think of that line; 'when we fall in love, we're just falling in love with ourselves', and it makes me question how much I depend on him to make me feel beautiful. It was always an issue—the fact that he made me feel so incredibly central, and absolute. It's a selfish need, having him all to myself, and so no matter how much I'm pining… I'll let him go.

"Record it and make me a tape," he jokes, but I can hear the cover up in his voice—he wants me to smile, and so I oblige and I dig myself out of self pity, and allow myself laughter.

Lips kiss and fingers ghost and voices moan and I wake up again from a hazy sexy dream that leaves me sighing in exasperation.

I keep dreaming about him.

I keep having these vivid lustful dreams.

I fish for my phone and press a key. It lights up: 3.05am. I fling it to the side and collapse onto my flat pillow. I find myself smiling, really smiling and tugging my lip between my teeth.

I touch myself and think of him. It isn't enough though, it isn't how I remember it being. It doesn't even live up to my dreams. His kisses are 100 times more potent. I stop half way through, thinking what's the use… those desires are stirred and left to simmer, cold air leaving it flat before I even have a chance to blink.

I close my eyes and drift off back to sleep, where Edward is present and his words are hot in my ear.

The day he leaves, and I want to see him off, but the class I have is vital and instead I am to do with a phone call.

We are a little passionate. Our words insinuating, promising things once he returns, hoping for sparks to fly. They do, for a few seconds I am flustered, because Edward's voice is low and throaty, but then his flight is called, and he has to leave.

"I have to go," he tells me.

"O… okay."

"I love you," he sighs. "I'll call you, I promise."

"Okay."

"Bella… baby…"

My breath hitches. He hasn't called that since, since forever and it sounds so familiar and so sweet.

"Baby…" He chuckles. "God, does that sound weird?"

I smile, because it does, but instead I say, "I don't know Edward baby… sounds pretty nice to me."

And he laughs so adorably. "You're right. Sounds perfect actually…"

Our light mood lessens. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too."

"Stay focused for me."

"Yea," I say, "You too."

In the background I hear the announcement repeated. "I have to go baby…"

Terms of endearment that make me feel warm are flowing now. And I miss them and I want them and I just wish these 3 months would just be over with already.

"Okay."

"…Okay."

I give an almost laugh. "Go, or you'll miss your flight."

"Right," he sighs. "I'm going now."

"Bye Edward."

"Bye Bella."

The line cripples and the phone call is over.

We're holding hands, Lola and I. She is always touchy feely, and even though there are whispers amongst our college mates, she doesn't bat an eyelid. We're both past silly whispers and rumors. It's a nice day and so we take a walk on the grounds.

"Jake took me to see this movie last night, it was so bad… like one of those gross out comedies. His laugh was the loudest in the whole theatre. For someone so smart he sure has a dumb sense of humor."

I chuckle. "Jake is easy… so I don't see why his humor wouldn't be the same."

"Yea," she retorts. "Someone just has to fart and he'll be rolling on the floor."

I bump her shoulder. "You love it."

"I do not."

"Oh please, you think it's cute… that's why you can't stop talking about it. Jake this/Jake that."

She smiles sheepishly. "You're right… he is cute… and dumb… and so hot." We giggle at her confession and then she asks, "How's Edward?"

"He called last night, he's fine," I reply, kicking loose gravel with the tip of my sneaker.

Lola nods. "Just fine?"

I frown. "The phone cut out."

"He didn't call back?"

I let out a huff. "It kept cutting out… I figure he'll try and call me tonight."

We walk and walk and my hand is getting sweaty, but Lola isn't letting go. She swings our palms together. At times she skips, and it feels like I am a child all over again. She starts back up with the skipping, and it's a little

embarrassing seeing as we are passing a whole hoard of students congregating on the grass. She giggles airily and forces me to keep up with her, and I do, and I feel so silly. But it makes me laugh, and it would seem as though laughter is the best medicine.

We talk every night. The cell phone he had, with all its gadgetry had died. I had to wait a full two days for an explanation, and I would be lying if I said I hadn't been worrying. "The Iphone went to the grave Bella, not me." I wanted to roll my eyes at his bad humor, but I smiled instead. "There's this one girl, she wrote me a love note. She's 8 years old." And I could imagine her falling for him, like how I did, how I still am, even after 7 years.

It's a lazy day. Me and my bed and Edward's ratty black t-shirt. I spend a lot of time horizontal, legs bent, sometimes in the air as I hear him talk me through his whole day. Each is full, packed with duties and kids… lots of kids.

"They're everywhere."

"You sound fond."

"It's weird. I don't mind them…"

"You and a bunch of kids…" I laugh. "You're right, it is weird."

"Hey, I'm pretty good with them."

"Really?" I scrunch my nose in disbelief.

"Have faith. Besides… prepares me the future."

I chew on the inside of my lip. We've never had this conversation. And funnily enough, I don't peg myself as the maternal type. "Do you want kids?"

"If it was with you… I think it would be pretty okay."

I smile. "Pretty okay?"

I think he's smiling too. "We could name our boy Ed Junior… our girl Bellarina…"

"That's terrible."

"How about Edwina?"

"Ew." I laugh. "No way."

"Edella?"

"Definitely not."

He laughs. "So you'll be picking out the names?"

"Sure, if you'll birth the babies."

"Well I'll help conceive…"

"Hmm," I hum, nervousness clouting me.

"I think… that would probably be the most enjoyable part."

I wonder if he's planned this, practicing his flirtatiousness.

Probably not.

I think all of this is spontaneous. And I can tell, he's pacing each sentence, almost as if he testing very tepid waters.

He clears his throat, my silence doing nothing to enable him.

"You think about me still?" he asks, him timbre a little higher.

I sigh, because this is a silly question. "Yes."

"I think about you all the time, Bella."

It's nice to know this. Slowly, we are both rediscovering our sensuality. We are careful, as neither of us want to become dependant on it.

He's a mixture of sexiness and tenderness. And I don't feel dirty. I don't feel guilty for being turned on. It's a high emotional balance, but the good kind… the kind that makes me feel cherished.

"Can't wait to touch you again."

I go warm and close my eyes. "Two months," I sigh.

"I'll be counting down the days."

We continue our regular routine. Roaming charges are ridiculous and so I decide to purchase a multitude of phone cards. They come in handy and our time on the phone lengthens into the early mornings.

He seems lighter. All of his experiences are leading him to think that his worries are cheap. "It's nothing," he tells me. "All of what I've been through, it's nothing in comparison to some of what I've seen here." But he also tells me of South Africa's beauty. "I want to come back here… with you… I think you'd like it." I think about it. I fantasize and dream, and I decide that this would absolutely have to happen.

"I think I'm over myself," he chuckles.

One month passes and then two and we're somewhere in limbo with waiting. Strangely enough, it doesn't feel like before. I'm not tired or weary. I'm just living, and in a way through Edward—all of his experiences and stories are allowing me to empathize.

"It's nothing."

And in the end I know we'll okay.

It's another blazing hot day. Lola has convinced me that dresses are convenient in this weather. I'm walking along the fresh cut grass in Havana's, the floaty material of my dress barely blowing in the static breeze. I feel a little naked, but free… maybe even pretty. I'm catching the attention of a few students, and for once I'm not shying away.

I think Lola is rubbing off on me, and once she sees my attire her face goes bright. "You have legs!" she screeches, and in front of many she continues, "And boobs!"

I smile at the memory as I eat my lunch on the grass. The sun is kind to me, my skin thankfully isn't burning. I lean back on my elbows and drink in its beams. I feel myself drifting off, my whole body growing lethargic.

In the background I can hear other people—the climate causing our grounds to become full of activity and chatter. I grab a sweater from my bag and turn it into a makeshift pillow. I lay back in my solitude and fall asleep.

When I wake my dress clings, I sit up lazily and the grass has indented my skin. I get up and make my way back to my dormitory. My flip flops clap against the concrete, the hollow sound ticking at my ear buds.

I think I hear the murmur of my name, but I am aware that I am sleepy, sluggish and possibly hallucinating.

"Bella."

I hear it again, but I keep the slow slug of my feet going.

"Bella," it calls.

I turn around to face it.

"Three months was just too long."

"Edward?" My eyes widen as my stomach drops. "Edward!"

And I'm running, straight into open arms. He 'oofs' as I throw myself at him, chuckling as my legs wrap around his waist in welcome. He picks me up, holding me fiercely.

"I missed you," I cry. "I missed you, I missed you, I missed you…"

"I missed you more," he whispers.

I slide down his body, eyes focused on his face. He is tanned, hair somewhat sun bleached. Edward laces his fingers in mine, grins happily and eases me back. "You're in a dress," he notes.

"Yea," I say sheepishly.

We giggle together. Somehow our reunion is much simpler than I had thought, festive even. Edward's usual seriousness is absent, a wide smile on his beautiful face as we stand and stare.

I crush myself back into his arms, content and thrilled at the prospect of us being together again. He wraps himself around me, I can hear his heart beat… its steady thump—he is relaxed and untroubled. I can't quite believe it, and so I pull back, palming his face.

"You're okay?" I ask.

His smile is gentle and instant. "I'm okay," he replies. "… Are you?"

I mirror him with ease. "I'm good," I softly say.

Edward leans in, a slight sigh on his breath, his eyes close, and his lips touch mine.

Our kiss isn't fiery or explosive. It's warm, and sweet, and familiar. "I love you," I whisper between our molded mouths.

I feel him smile, his tongue appears. It slips through my open mouth so slowly, it's a nice feeling, all that wet and soft touching mine. His breath is warm and pepperminty. I move a little closer, my breasts smashed into his hard chest, and he groans.

Something about that noise, something about the way it sounds and the way it makes me feel. It shows desire, it emanates longing, and I am so, so longing…

Somehow we get frantic. His mouth presses harder and so does mine. It hurts a little, but it feels good, so good it makes me want to curse words in a hundred different languages—because English is so basic, so lacking… and this

is kiss is not that.

"Mmm,"he suckles my lip, he tugs, and licks, and breathes, "Bella…"

And I get so hot, I claw at him. It's a series of pulling apart to peck each other's lips, hard pursed kisses, slow, long flicks of the tongue. We get so ardent that it is obscene. Love, love, love, I think. I love him so much my chest is burning, flames licking up through my throat as I touch him with hands and mouth and tongue.

Soon I jump at him. Legs wrapped around his waist again as he nearly trips backwards, we laugh together as he grips my behind. "My room," I pant.

"Mmmph," is his response.

And so reluctantly I let go. Edward is flushed pink and it is almost amusing if I wasn't feeling so red hot myself. He picks up his travel bag and follows me toward my room.

"You came straight here?" I ask eyeing his baggage.

He nods with a smile. "Couldn't wait," he confesses.

We knit our hands together, and I tell him he will have to sneak into the girls shower room to get clean. Edward sniffs his shirt, it is a little sweaty—not that I mind. I tell him I can follow, that it won't be a problem seeing as I know many girls have sneaked boyfriends in there before.

We walk and walk, and by the time we reach my room we are kissing yet again. A shower is forgotten, everything is forgotten. We eye one another longingly, and he whispers sweet nothings into my ear, causing me to shiver, taking me back to when I was virginal and naïve with the nature of such things.

He kisses my ear, suckling the lobe, and lowly promises me his heart. "Forever, and ever," he whispers. "I'll love you Bella… always." His lips move to my neck, and at this point I am beyond incoherent. I am a quivering, quaking mess of limbs and nerves.

"Edward," I breathe.

"Mmm," he moans, kissing down the length of my neck.

I go lax, falling into the plush of my duvet as he moves down my body. I look on as he kisses me further through my clothing, and then I pull him up, urge him to face me.

"Edward?"

His eyes are sparkling and wide. "Yes baby?"

"Bad time," I whisper, remembering my monthly cycle. It was strange to remember. I had been off the pill for a long year, no longer seeing the sense in keeping it a part of my routine. I explain this to him.

"Bad time," I whisper, remembering my monthly cycle. It was strange to remember. I had been off the pill for a long year, no longer seeing the sense in keeping it a part of my routine. I explain this to him.

In document Interoperabilidad Semantica para un Sistema de Informacion para el Control Interno (página 71-78)