Drabble # 3: Tummy Troubles
What goes Down Must Come Up
By Lady of Spain
Disclaimer: S. Meyer owns Twilight.
Banner by Lady of Spain Rated K+
Emmett was engrossed in digging a small h*** in the back yard. Rosalie was out shopping with Alice, so now was as good a time as any. Edward ghosted up behind him—man he was fast, and sneaky.
“Whatever are you doing, Emmett?” This was not the usual occupation of a fellow vampire.
“Shh!” Emmett looked around, “Are the girls still out shopping?”
“All but Bella and Esme, why?” This was certainly a peculiar conversation. Edward’s curiosity was piqued.
“This is what I’m doing, Bro.” Emmett held up a box containing some expensive brand of perfume.
“You’re putting on Rosalie’s perfume?” Edward was getting concerned, and coincidentally, confused.
“No—get real, Edward. I’m burying the damn stuff. Rosalie insists on wearing it, and it makes me want to hurl. It’s this sickening vanilla spice somethin’ or other gaggy scent. She walks around here smelling like there’s a cake baking in the oven. It’s just so gross!”
“I know what you mean, Emmett. I’m going to admit that I probably should change Bella very soon. She’s getting increasingly upset that I don’t want to sit down and eat with her. I did it once just to please her, but I had to run to the bathroom to regurgitate it as soon as I ingested the culinary exudate. Bella loves to cook, but I cannot tolerate eating it. The situation is driving a wedge between us. I love her so, and I don’t want this to stand in the way of our happiness.
Edward turned to walk back into the house as Emmett finished burying the bottle of perfume.
The next afternoon, Bella was busy making Beef Stroganoff. Apparently it was a favorite of Charlie’s. Edward cringed. Please, not Stroganoff!
Bella set the table for two. “Edward, if you love me, you’ll do this little thing for me. I rarely ask a favor of you. Please Edward, please . . . just one plateful.”
“All right, love. You know I can’t deny you anything.”
That was too easy. Bella was beginning to get suspicious. “You have to promise not to use the bathroom afterwards. One of the joys of my life is my cooking. I feel so hurt when you vomit my meal into the toilet after I took the pains to prepare it.”
Edward forced a smile. He wished that Jacob Black had been invited to dinner, then there’d be nothing left in the pot and he could forestall the inevitable.
He sat there politely while his beloved wife ladled the lumpy conglomeration onto his plate. Next came the string beans and the cold borscht. That was the worst—the borscht.
He held back gag after gag as he manfully swallowed the mass of glutinous glop that was trickling down his throat.
Bella sat there encouraging him with a sweet smile on her face, until his last bite disappeared.
Edward sat later at his piano playing a medley of tunes. Emmett snickered in the corner listening to Edward’s stomach protesting the abuse that had been inflicted upon it. The rumblings it made could easily have been a percussion accompaniment to his music. They were certainly loud enough.
Bella came downstairs and announced that she was retiring to bed.
Responding to her statement, Edward commented, “I’ll be there soon, love. I need to finish composing this melody first.”
Soon the sound of Bella’s slow steady breathing wafted down to Edward’s ears; a signal that she had fallen asleep.
Suddenly, Edward stood up and raced out to the backyard. Emmett met him just as he finished covering up a freshly dug h*** in the ground.
Emmett winked at Edward. “Hey, bro—I won’t tell if you won’t.”