This was originally written for The Twilight Twenty-Five during Round 8 in 2013, and I've decided to expand it with a couple more chapters. Original prompt: bit dot ly/1UmsJYu
Thanks be to MrsSpaceCowboy, who preread this forever and a day ago.
Title + writing inspiration: youtu dot be/-2U0Ivkn2Ds
Bella's body jolts as the front tires of her car hit the bumper. She scrambles to open her door as quickly as possible, forgetting to lock the car after she slams her door close.
And then she's running.
She runs through the parking lot as fast as her legs can move, scanning the area for his car. The fact that she doesn't see it almost makes her come to a halt.
Almost.
She fumbles with her keys, trying to find the correct one to let her into Edward's building. She's never had a problem finding it on the first try before, and she almost bursts into tears at the frustration of not being able to find it now.
Once inside, she runs straight for the elevator, not even acknowledging Marcus at the security desk. She's been in this building more times than she can count, so her presence is expected.
What Bella doesn't see is the look of pity on his face as he watches her run, knowing full well what she's going to find.
"No. No no no no no. Fuck!"
Bella slaps the maintenance sign on the elevator door. She hits it again for good measure before she finally begins to cry. Through blurry vision, she reaches down, removes her flip-flops—not giving a fuck where they land—and pushes through the door to the stairwell.
Barefoot, out of breath, and regretful, she runs up the stairs with every ounce of energy she has left. Every step echoes, every echo brings on a memory, and every memory makes her push herself harder. Every time she passes a floor, the ache in her chest grows, the weight in her stomach becomes heavier, and the pain in her head increases.
By the fourth floor, she's ready to give up. By the middle of the sixth floor, her determination's returned. By the time she bursts through the seventh floor door, she's ready to throw up, the exertion of running up the stairs and the emotional turmoil too much for her body to take.
But she keeps on running. She runs down the hall, flies past the elevators, and makes the left turn she's rounded many times before. Two doors down on the right is where her eyes fixate, where so many memories were made.
Every surprise breakfast in bed.
Every movie night.
Every rush out the door for work.
Every pant and scream and moan when he fucked her.
Every dinner with a family member.
Every blowjob in the kitchen.
Every silent treatment.
Every "I love you."
Every argument…
The air's violently pulled from Bella's lungs when she opens the door.
Everything's gone.
No sofa purchased at a random yard sale, no refrigerator drawings made by Emmett's daughter, no curtains sewed by Renee.
And as she walks into the kitchen, her eyes are drawn to the counter, to the piece of paper with Edward's handwriting, to the ring that sits beside it.
I wish you would've let me love you.