Summary: Post New Moon. It's been three years since Edward left Bella in the forest behind her house and he never came back. She's just trying to put her life back together again and learning how to move on. He's been watching her from afar, constantly reminded of the mistake he made. Inspired by the song 'Somedays' performed by jacksoul and written by Jon Levine.
Disclaimer: Any and all publicly recognizable characters, settings, lyrics, writings, etc. are the property of their respective owners/creators. Any and all original content is property of the author, who, in this case, happens to be me. In other words, I don't own Twilight, I just manipulate SM's characters into bastardized versions of themselves; I don't own the rights to any Pablo Neruda works (though I sorely wish I did); and I don't own the rights to the jacksoul song 'Somedays', written by Jon Levine.
Copyrighted content used: Twilight characters, concepts, etc. (duh), lyrics from the song 'Somedays', and a line from Neruda's 'Poema XX'
I leaned my head down on my desk and allowed my mind to wander on it's own for a moment. Immediately playbacks of memories coursed through my brain, playing backwards like an old VCR rewinding. It started off slow, innocent- the occurrences from earlier in the day, select moments of the past week, faces of the people in my life now who made me happy, who made me smile.
I rolled my forehead until my cheek was pressed up against the desktop. My eyes hit the desk calendar, my sight immediately drawn to the date. Today's date. It had been three years to the day. If I were to be honest with myself I'd admit that I knew, that it was something that I had been dreading for months. But it was easier to lie to myself, to act surprised when my eyes fell on that little white box with the tiny, insignificant number in the corner.
"Bella?"
"In my room," I called back, not moving from my position atop the desk. Only when I heard Angela's footsteps right outside my door and her hand jostle the knob did I sit up and pretend that I wasn't doing whatever it was that I just was doing.
"Hey," she said softly, opening the door and poking her head in. I took a breath, plastered a smile on my face, and turned to her. "Ben and Eric are here, they brought Chinese. You in?"
"Yeah, I'll be there in a minute, 'kay?"
She gave me a small smile. "Alright."
Angela left my door ajar and I felt of rush of gratitude towards the quite brunette who was my best friend. She had stuck by me for the past three years, had stuck up for me during that first, tumultuous set of three hundred and sixty five days, had stuck around to help me cope for these last two.
Three years. Three years exactly. One thousand, ninety five and three quarter days since he left me standing at the edge of the forest that encroached on the yard. Twenty six thousand, two hundred and eighty hours since he told me that he didn't love me, that he didn't want me. One million, five hundred seventy six thousand and eight hundred minutes since he broke my heart.
I let the thoughts filter through me, allowing myself not to block them out like I usually did. It had taken along time to get to this point where I didn't feel the pain, where I wouldn't automatically burst out into tears at the single mental image of his bronze hair or topaz-gold eyes.
Small wonder after three long years.
I could feel the familiar stinging in my eyes and I willed myself to cry. But the tears never came; they had stopped coming a long time ago. I took another deep, calming breath and went to the living room to join the people who were in my life now.
***
I could see her through the gauzy drapes drawn across her window. She had her head lying against her desk as if she was tired. I heard her sigh sadly and I wondered selfishly if she was thinking about me. Correction- if she was thinking good things, positive things, about me. Probably not. She probably wasn't even thinking of me at all. Angela knocked on her door and invited her to join herself, Ben, and Eric for an early dinner of Chinese takeout.
I wonder if she's thinking about him, she thought, noting the sad glint in Bella's eyes. I allowed myself to watch through Angela's eyes, grateful that Bella had managed to keep Angela as a friend. Angela was right: the smile on Bella's beautiful face didn't reach her eyes and her eyes were no longer the warm chocolate brown I had loved, still loved but missed dearly. They were shallow, hollow, depthless, like someone had drained a pool and you could see the bottom, inches away from your face.
"Yeah, I'll be there in a minute, 'kay?" She even sounded hollow. It made my stomach twist and my still heart heavy.
That ass, Angela thought as she turned from Bella's room, careful to keep the door slightly ajar. An image of my face flooded through Angela's head, a dark, angry hue coloring the picture. I could literally kill him for doing that to her.
"And I'd deserve it," I whispered to her, well aware that I was across the street and in a different building and she couldn't even possibly hear me.
"She gonna eat with us?" I heard Eric ask.
"She said she would," Angela replied skeptically. I hope she does, she silently amended.
My attention was brought back to the heartbreakingly sad woman sitting at the desk in front of the window. Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth and the familiar furrow in her brow made me want to go to her, made me want to pull that lip from her teeth and smooth out the crease between her eyes. I'd have given anything, anything in the viable universe, to know what she was thinking about right at that moment.
I knew then, for certain, that she was thinking about me, but not in the way that I wanted. I spent the majority of three years watching her and I could recognize the instant when I crossed her mind. She blinked, in the way I remembered she would blink back her tears, sighed, and exited her room.
***
"I still say that we should go out and do something tonight, Bella. I mean, c'mon, you're legal, tender, and fine!"
I looked over at Eric incredulously. "Seriously? Does that even work?"
Ben and Angela laughed as Eric mumbled something I didn't bother to catch.
"And I don't want to go out. You know me, I'd rather hack off my own foot than go to a club."
"And the girl references Saw once again. C'mon, Bella, you'd think you'd rather die a horrible, gruesome death than hang out with your friends!"
I shot Eric a cross look. "You know that's not true, Eric. But can you seriously imagine me in a club, dancing? Me, the girl who tripped walking up to the podium at graduation and broke her nose? Me, the one person who fractured a rib walking through a doorway that had no door?"
He and I glared at each other for a minute before he laughed, signaling that he conceded. "Alright, alright. But it's Friday and your birthday was three days ago, let's at least get rip roarin' drunk. Twenty one shots for twenty one years!"
I was about to say no when it crossed my mind that I'd rather be drunk out of my mind tonight of all nights rather than sober in it. "Alright. Sounds good to me."
"Excellent!" Eric jumped up, upsetting the (thankfully) empty Chinese takeaway carton in his lap. He motioned to Ben. "You ladies clean up here and invite whoever you want over, Bella. Benny Boy and I have some shopping to do."
He pulled Ben through the apartment and out the door before Ben could even do anything but give Angela a quick peck on the cheek. I was beginning to regret this already.
"Go, I'll clean all this up," Angela said to me as she picked up cardboard cartons.
"Are you sure?" I squished paper chopstick wrappers and napkins into my empty carton. She took the garbage from my hands.
"Yes, I'm sure." She smiled at me. "Don't worry, if you don't want to do this, I can call Ben and get him to tell Eric to back off."
"No, no," I said quickly. "I want to do this. Might as well celebrate, right?"
She quirked an eyebrow at me and I cursed silently. She knew me well enough to know that I hated being the center of attention.
"Don't worry, Ang," I said. "I'm twenty one now. I've g0tta start living or else I never will, right?"
She gave me another worried glance before it transformed into a smile. "Alright. Go, invite some other people over or else we might end up drinking everything Eric brings back ourselves. And I doubt that alcohol poisoning is on your birthday wishlist."
***
Their thoughts were all fuzzy, like a car going too fast as you watched out the window. It was starting to make me sick.
I had switch vantage points: I was now in the apartment building across the street from their living room window. Normally I could see right into their living room, over the breakfast bar and into the small galley kitchen, down the hallway straight until the bathroom. But tonight my focus was on the shabby three-seater couch directly in front of the window. Sitting in the center was Bella and there were twenty one shot glasses sitting on the coffee table in front of her along with a bowl full of lime wedges and a salt cellar. Eleven shot glasses were upturned and empty, eleven pulpy lime rinds decorating the tabletop around a half-empty bottle of tequila. The remaining nine shot glasses were only half full, a fact that I was thankful for.
I watched Bella through the window. I had long given up trying to watch her through the minds of the twenty other people at her impromptu party. They were all drunk and drunk minds weren't exactly a pleasant place to be.
Eric tried to ply her into another shot but several people stopped him. The remaining twelve half shots were discreetly distributed amongst the party goers and I breathed a sigh of relief. At least she wouldn't be drinking anymore. I didn't want to have to figure out a way to get her to a hospital without her knowing… Well, everything.
I clenched my fists tightly at my sides as I watched her teeter in her seat slightly, eyelids heavy with the alcoholic influence. Even though all her tequila shots had only been half shots, she was still drunk. No, she had passed drunk four half shots ago- the girl I was watching was sloshed.
She giggled at something stupid someone said. Then she spoke, her words slow and slurring together. "You know, Eddy, I knew someone who had the same name as you once."
"Really? Does he still have the same name or did he change it?" The boy named Eddy laughed at his own joke and sat beside Bella, throwing an arm around her shoulders.
"I dunno," she replied slowly, blinking quickly as if trying to clear her vision. She leant into his arm. "Maybe he still has the same name. Maybe not. I stopped waiting by the phone for him to call. So I don't know."
The prick named Eddy made little comforting tsk, tsk sounds and hugged her, planting a sloppy, drunken kiss on her forehead.
"Go to hell, Eddy," I seethed from my stalker perch across the street.
***
"You know, some days I don't even think of him at all."
I felt Angela's fingers comb through my hair and all I could think of was that it felt nice. Really, really nice.
"Really? That's good, right?"
"I think so. It gets a little easier every day," I said. My ears registered my voice and I began wondering why my voice sounded weird. "Why does my voice sound so weird?"
I heard a laugh from somewhere I couldn't see. I tried to twist around to find it but failed miserably. "You're drunk, Bella."
"So? I haven't changed. So why is my voice different?"
The laugh came again and Ben's legs stepped into my line of sight. I heard him whisper something to Angela and I ignored him, because he probably didn't want me to hear anyways.
"If you want to go to bed, do let me stop you," I told her, flipping around enough so I could look up at her. He face cracked into a grin. "Really, let me stop you!"
She let out a louder than normal giggle before I could process what exactly was wrong.
"No! I mean, don't let me stop you! You should go to bed!" I sat up and the room spun. I put a hand to my head to try and get the spinning to stop. I felt small hands on my shoulders stand me up and guide me to my bedroom while I muttered every thought that passed through my mind.
"Here, drink this," Angela said as she sat me down on my bed in the dark, moonlit room. She handed me a water bottle. I wrinkled my nose.
"The whole thing?"
"Yes," she laughed. "Unless you want to regret it in the morning."
I took the bottle and chugged it down unsuccessfully; more of it ended up sloshed down my front than in my mouth. I continued anyways, handing her the empty bottle and thanking her before she told me something I couldn't quite grasp and left my room, closing the door behind her.
I sat and contemplated changing out of my wet things. They felt uncomfortable. But I couldn't remember where dry things were. But I really didn't want to stay in my wet things.
"Oh, well," I said simply as I decided to strip off all my clothes and dive under the covers.
I proceeded to pull my shirt down and my jeans up, wondering for a second why it wasn't working like it normally did.
"Stupid clothes," I muttered as I tried to haphazardly tug at them, hoping to somehow free myself of the wet fabrics. It was starting to get cold because of all the water I had spilled on myself.
Suddenly, it got colder. Specifically at my waist. My eyes widened, wondering why, and I touched the spot where it felt like an icicle had been pushed gently into my skin. Nothing but cold, wet Bella.
"Whatever," I muttered. Then I giggled. "I must be really drunk."
I fell back on the bed, my struggle with my clothes temporarily forgotten until I realized that I really was cold. I looked down and saw my bra and the skin of my tummy. I sat up unsteadily and looked around. My burgundy v-neck shirt was in a wet heap on the carpet by my feet.
"Huh. I could've sworn I was stuck. Oh, well. Jeans next."
I pulled at the waistband and struggled with it, falling back on the bed again as I warred with the evil, annoying denim. I closed my eyes in concentration as I pawed uselessly at the button. Another blast of cold shrouded my fingertips. I sat up, sure that I hadn't imagined it. I eyed the room frantically.
"Huh-lo?" I called out quietly, unsure of who it was I was actually speaking to. I knew I was alone but the cold stirred something in my memories that I couldn't quite understand in my drunken stupor. No answer came and I was sure that it was just my drunken imagination running wild. I looked down and saw that I had miraculously managed, somehow, to undo the button and zip to my jeans. I grinned and hooked my thumbs around the waistband of the jeans and of my underwear and pulled them down simultaneously. I kicked them beside the heap that was my shirt and struggled out of my bra, forgetting that there was a clasp and shrugging out of it t-shirt style.
***
She was naked. She was damp, drunk, and naked. Standing alone in front of her bed with the door of the room closed. Un-fucking-believable.
Stop, I scolded myself as I peeled my eyes away from where she was standing, looking confused. You've done more than enough. Stop. NOW.
Earlier in the night, when Angela and Ben proceeded to usher guests out of their apartment, I had taken the opportunity to dart inside and hide in the hall closet. Just to make sure Bella truly was safe and, perhaps, to clean up a little as a favor to Ben and Angela. I listened to the drunken small talk of the two girls as they lounged on the couch and I determined that Bella was fine, that I would go as soon as all the lights in the apartment were off.
"You know, some days I don't even think of him at all."
My breath caught in my throat as my conscience reprimanded me for being there, for watching her at all.
"Really? That's good, right?" I tried to listen to Angela's unspoken words but the buzz and fuzziness surrounding her thoughts was enough that it made me dizzy.
"I think so. It gets a little easier every day," Bella whispered, almost as if she were scared.
I have to stay, I told myself. Just until she's in bed and I know she's safe.
And with that I had justified the worst decision in my life. No, scratch that- the second worst decision in my life: leaving her at all was the first.
"Some days I don't even think of him at all."
It made my heart hurt, hearing those words. It was selfish and I knew it, but I couldn't help but feel the pain her words inspired. There wasn't a minute that she didn't pass through my mind, that I didn't wish that I had handled things differently.
Maybe this is a sign, the rational part of my brain said. Maybe this is an out, you can leave now and stop hurting her. If you don't leave now, who knows what you'll do.
I ignored the mental warning. Just tonight, I replied greedily. I'll allow myself just this one night.
I heard a slight scuffle in the living room and I knew immediately that Angela was bringing Bella to her bedroom. I opened the closet door and found that all the lights were off. Taking the chance, I darted around Angela and Bella and into Bella's bedroom, not allowing myself to look at her as the two drunkenly stumbled forward, afraid I'd stop to watch and get caught. I stepped into the shadow of the bedroom closet, happy that Bella had left the doors thrown open in her haste to get ready earlier in the evening.
"Here, drink this." Angela had sat Bella on the edge of the bed and handed her a bottle of water.
Bless you, dear girl, I thought to Angela, wishing that she could've heard me. A wave of gratitude rushed through me again towards the quiet girl and I made a mental note to thank her, as I did every time she took care of Bella for me during the past three years.
"The whole thing?" Bella sounded petulant. I allowed myself a small smile as I watched the pout form on her face. Angela laughed.
"Yes. Unless you want to regret it in the morning."
My eyes grew wide as Bella took the bottle to her lips and tilted her head back, the water drenching down her front. I wasn't even sure any had actually made it into her mouth and I bit back a groan. Watching her giggle drunken apologies and thanks was working wonders below the waistband of my jeans.
"Night, Bella. There's another bottle of water and a bottle of aspirin on your nightstand when you wake up, okay?"
Another giggle of thanks came from the wet girl on the bed. Angela closed the door and I heard her walk down the hall to the bedroom she shared with Ben. I looked back to Bella and she sat quietly on her bed in her soaked clothes.
Do not, my conscience began, do not even dare to think about wet, drunk Bella.
Yes, I agreed silently. Instead, I watched her face. The play of emotions crossing her beautiful features was comical. Her face kept screwing up in thought then smoothing out, screwing up a little differently when another thought crossed her mind. Then she stood.
"Oh, well," I heard her say, as if she had made a decision about something.
She began to tug at her clothes, pulling down on the hem of her shirt and jerking up the waistband of her jeans. She stopped and stared down at her waterlogged clothes and I could see her bottom lip push out in another pout. She resumed pulling at her clothes in no specific manner, muttering under her breath. She looked absolutely adorable in her struggle with her clothes. Then it hit me-
She's struggling with her clothes. She's trying to take her clothes off.
My mind raced in two and a half million directions, the most prominent being nakedBellanakedBellanakedBella and Ishouldn'tbehereIshouldn'tbehereIshouldn'tbehere. A pang of self-disgust crossed through me as I felt the naked Bella thoughts winning out over the I shouldn't be heres.
She looked tired and frustrated and before I could stop myself I was standing behind her. I breathed in her scent and the flood of memories came crashing down on me, as if they were breaking through a dam. Every smile she gave me, every breath we shared, all the kisses stolen and all the things I left unsaid. It brought another stab to my long still heart.
Bella was still struggling with her clothes, completely unaware that I was standing behind her, so close to her. I let out a small soundless sigh as I maneuvered myself so she wouldn't accidentally hit me as she flailed about.
Concentrating very hard on trying not to touch her, I grasped her shirt hem and pulled the shirt off of her swiftly. I felt her familiar electric warmth against my right hand as my fingertips made contact with her waist. She stopped flailing and her neck snapped up. I tossed the shirt at her feet and was back in the closet in a flash.
Stupid, stupid, stupid! I chastised myself. My fingers tingled and I smiled despite the rashness of my actions. Just like the first time that we touched. I cradled my hand against my heart, hoping that the tingling was enough to restart my heart.
I watched as her hands ghosted over the spot I had touched. Did she feel it, too? Did she know I was there, near her, watching her, making her safe? Did she wish it were me, did she wish that things had turned out differently? Then I heard her speak and her next words almost drove me to reveal myself to her.
"Whatever. I must be really drunk."
No! I wanted to cry. No, you're not drunk! I'm here! I've always been here, watching you, waiting for you, loving you! A series of strangled breaths stopped me from saying the words. If I could, I would have been sobbing. I dropped silently to my knees with my head in my hands. Why couldn't she see?
I heard the squeak of her bedsprings as she laid back. I heard her sharp intake of breath and her shiver and I dared a peek at her. She was pulling herself in back into an upright position, looking around cautiously.
"Huh. I could've sworn I was stuck," she breathed. "Oh, well. Jeans next."
My eyes almost popped out of my skull at her last two words. The words naked Bella chorused through me again and I loathed myself at that exact moment. She flopped back down on her bed and her fingers clumsily pushed and tugged at her denim clad hips. Again my body moved without the consent of my mind. I stood over her and watched for a moment. Her eyes were closed in concentration as her fingers fought with her jeans. I reached my arms, grasped her fingers to stop her struggling, popped open the brass button and swiftly pulled down the short zipper. Almost instantly she froze, my fingers still around hers. I watched as her eyes flew open and I was determined to stay but my feet had already brought me back to my hiding spot.
"Hello?" She spoke quietly and her eyes surveyed the dark room frantically. I could hear her heart beating frantically in her chest and it almost drew me out of the closet and into her arms. I was afraid and hopeful that she would speak my name next. But it never came.
I saw a grin grace her face and it reminded me of all the grins she had given me before. Sly grins when she would tease me, reassuring grins when I felt unworthy, hopeful grins when we'd talk about forever. I never deserved any of it, none of the wry turns of her lips and knowing glints in her eyes. I hadn't earned them and my behavior could never justify them.
What came next played out excruciatingly slow. Bella had hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her jeans and tugged down. I begged myself to look away, for her decency and my sanity, but my eyes were glued to her every inch of newly exposed skin. A heavy blast of desire washed through me when I realized that she was pulling off her panties as well. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from groaning as I watched her unintended striptease. I felt my desire stir in me as she shifted around, swaying her hips and shimmying out of her panties and jeans. She stood still once they were on the floor and I couldn't help but look at her. Never in my life had I seen anyone, anything, so utterly gorgeous.
She looked like an angel with the moonlight streaming through her gauzy curtains and dappling her fair skin. With her dark, mahogany hair and dark chocolate eyes, she looked ethereal, other worldly. I wanted so badly to reach out and touch her, make sure she was still real, not a ghost or mirage. I wanted to feel her warm soft skin against mine, kiss those full red lips and make her forget all the lies that I had told her, all the wrong things that had ever come out of my mouth to rest in her ears.
"Bella," I whispered, pouring three years worth of want, desire, and need into her name.
She shimmied out of her bra without undoing the clasp and threw it to the floor. She slipped back her bed covers and crawled underneath them, naked. I groaned. Why was she doing this to me? Did she know that I was here? Was she punishing me for all the hurt and pain I had made her feel?
Her breathing wasn't slow like it normally was when she slept but she was so still in her bed. I stepped out of the closet and looked over to her. The blanket was pulled up to her neck and I breathed a sigh of relief. She had her eyes closed. I chanced another step towards the bed, hoping that she would fall asleep soon just so I could hold her one more time.
***
I wasn't sure if I fell asleep or still drunk or both. I felt relaxed, more relaxed than I could remember ever being. But a part of me knew that if I was still thinking then I was probably awake. I rolled over and opened my eyes and found that I was staring into another pair. Caramel gold.
A-ha! I am drunk! I thought triumphantly as I stared wide-eyed into the instantly familiar depths of the eyes in front of me. Then they disappeared and I was left staring at the dark.
"I didn't think tequila made you hallucinate," I told myself out loud. "Maybe when you mix it with vodka. God, I'm such a horrible drunk."
Silence. Then something in my head clicked.
"Geeze, if I had know that alcohol would bring visions, I would've tried this a long time ago instead of torturing myself on that stupid motorcycle." I laughed at the memory.
If he were here, even if it was just a tequila-induced hallucination, there were so many things I wanted to say to him, to tell him, to ask him, to beg him. I continued talking, but it was no longer to myself. I let my words hang in the moonlit dark of my room, hoping that this hallucination would be cathartic and not destructive.
"You know, some days I don't even think of you at all," I said in a small voice, repeating what I had told Angela earlier. "I do my work, come home to bed and it's easier to just pretend that what happened never happened. I mean, I'm on my own, I'm on my way. On my way to being… I don't know what, really, but I just know that I'm on my way."
I paused to take a breath and I closed my eyes.
"I stopped dreaming of your face. Actually, I don't even dream. No, I don't dream at all. For a long time I'd wake up screaming. Then that stopped. Apparently I don't even talk in my sleep anymore. It used to freak out Charlie, when I used to scream in my sleep. But I'm pretty sure it freaked him out more when I stopped talking in my sleep at all. Once, he woke me up just to make sure I was still alive. He was so scared, thought that I died in my sleep because he couldn't even hear me breathing."
"I'm sorry."
I opened my eyes and there, standing beside my bed, was my tequila-induced Edward. My memories, the ones I tried to never think about, couldn't do this delusion justice. The sharp angles of his jaw and cheekbones and brow, the full lips and alabaster skin, the caramel-gold eyes and auburn-bronze hair. And the voice was just as I remembered it, from all the times I put myself in danger. But those danger-provoked voices were never like this. Where those words sounded like angry, reproachful Edward, this liquor-infused fantasy sounded broken, hollow, sad. I scooted back a few inches and peeled the covers away, looking at the figment of my imagination pointedly.
"You may as well get comfortable," I told it. It didn't move. I studied it's face. "God, you're good. Maybe I remembered you more clearly than I realized."
His gloriously pained face screwed up in confusion. "What?"
"Hmm. Maybe not. Edward's usually more eloquent that that." I tugged the covers back up and rolled over. "Maybe alcohol fantasies aren't any good. Whatever."
Nothing happened for a long time. I was sure that I drifted off to sleep but I was awakened when I felt cold arms circle my shoulders. I rolled back over and buried my face in his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of something that was distinctly Edward and reveling in the cool marble arms I used to call home.
"Shit, you even smell like him," I whispered. I looked up to the angel's face above me. "You smell like him and you feel like him."
"Maybe I really am him," my illusion replied. The familiar crooked smile, the one I always knew he had reserved especially for me, graced his lips. "Maybe this isn't some tequila-fueled fantasy, Bella. Maybe I've really come back."
Instead of breaking my heart like they rightly should have, the words just made me laugh. I threw my head back as the hilarity of his words made my shoulders shake. When I looked back at him he looked extremely annoyed, just like I remembered.
"You're definitely funnier than I remember," I said finally as the last of the laughter melted away.
"I wasn't trying to be funny."
I snorted. "You have to be an illusion or whatever. What was it you said?"
"Tequila-fueled fantasy."
"Yeah, right, a tequila-fueled fantasy. You are a tequila-fueled fantasy. You have to be."
"Why?"
I swallowed and looked up. The liquid butterscotch eyes bored into mine as I braced myself for the pain that would inevitably come.
"Because you didn't love me," I breathed. "Because you didn't stay."
I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping against hope that my vision of him wouldn't disappear in a wisp of smoke. I was surprised, though, that I didn't even feel the pain that usually accompanied the words that I had just said. The cold, familiar weight stayed wrapped around me, but never moved, so I was sure that the alcohol had worn off and I would be lying in bed alone. Again. As always.
I peeked and saw the sharp lines of the magnificent alabaster skin of his jaw. He was still there. Maybe I had drunk more than I originally thought.
"Hmm, I'll have to thank Eric," I said absently, trying vainly to remember how much tequila and vodka the boy had convinced me to drink. I felt the arms around me tighten and a recognizable low growl sounded close to my ears.
"Thank him for what?"
"Getting me drunk," I replied simply. My vision looked down at me, his dark buttery gold eyes glaring at me disapprovingly.
"You want to thank him for getting you drunk?"
"Yeah, I guess it sounds kind of stupid. Guess that just makes me a glutton for punishment. Though, I guess, I should know that by now." I shrugged my shoulders.
Tequila Fantasy Edward scooted down on the bed, his arms still wrapped around my shoulders, so his face was level with mine. I closed my eyes as his breath washed over my face. I smiled.
"Explain, please," it said.
I opened my eyes again and sighed. "Why? You're in my head. You know already. Just because I have to do stupid, reckless, dangerous stuff to hear you, to imagine you, doesn't mean you don't already know." I paused, trying to recollect the words I just said. "Wait, did any of that make sense?"
He laughed and it was beautiful. "No, it didn't make any sense at all. But I think I might understand."
"Good." I nodded. "Because I don't think I could explain it again if you made me."
There was silence between us but I was hell bent against sleeping now. I wasn't going to waste this opportunity. I was going to stay awake with Tequila Fantasy Edward until my drunk faded and him with it.
"Why, though?" it asked. I felt bad- his eyes looked so sad. I wanted to do something to make him feel better. I lifted my right hand to stroke his cheekbone, just like he had done all those years ago after he walked me to gym class.
"Why what?"
"Why would you feel the need to do dangerous things just to hear me, to see me?"
"Hmmm." I contemplated. "Isn't it obvious? I missed you. Like crazy. For some reason, I could always hear your voice whenever I was doing something reckless. So I kept on doing stuff like that. The motorcycle, the cliff diving, the base jumping, the joyriding. But then after awhile I'd be doing that kind of stuff and your voice stopped telling me no. It made me sad but I think that was the point I realized."
He waited for me to continue but I didn't. He was in my head, he'd already know, already understand.
***
When she had peeled the covers off of herself to invite me in bed with her, I almost lost it. I was this close to stripping off all my clothes, jumping into that bed with her and making her see God. But then when she called me an alcohol induced fantasy, I knew I had my chance. I could be with her, just for tonight, and she could be with me without hurting.
I never meant to climb on top of the covers and hold her. I was just going to stand and watch her, listen to her while she talked in her sleep maybe. Well, she didn't do that anymore, the sleep talking. It brought another wave of guilt to my conscience that that was another thing that I had taken away from her. But when she rolled over and dismissed me, I couldn't help myself. I wanted her, I wanted it to be just like it was before, when I'd hold her and she'd snuggle into my chest and I could kiss her hair while whispering sweet nothings into the night.
Then she cursed and said something about remembering how I smelled. It surprised me to hear her use such language; the worse I had ever heard come from her lips was 'damn' or 'holy crow'. I couldn't help but tease her, play along with her game while trying to hint to her that I was more than just a figment of her imagination. I don't know whether I was relieved or annoyed when she laughed it off. But then she said it—
"Because you didn't love me. Because you didn't stay."
I wanted to kiss her right then, erase her feelings of neglect and whatever else I had left her to fester in. I wanted so badly to convince her that she thought wrong.
No, Bella, I thought, wishing she could read my mind. I did love you. I do love you. I will always love you. Ask me to stay this time. I'll stay, I'll go, I will do whatever you ask of me.
She went continued, though, on some ridiculous tangent about thanking the Yorkie boy for allowing her to get drunk. That angered me. No, it downright pissed me off. Was she stupid? Did she not have any common sense anymore? But even that didn't compare to the panic I felt well in me when she said that she had engaged in reckless behavior just to hear my voice. I tried my hardest to stay calm, to be understanding, and it was taking every ounce of my control.
She brought her hand to my face and stroked my cheekbone, like I had done to her all those years ago when she still loved me.
"I missed you. Like crazy. For some reason, I could always hear your voice whenever I was doing something reckless. So I kept on doing stuff like that. The motorcycle, the cliff diving, the base jumping, the joyriding. But then after awhile I'd be doing that kind of stuff and your voice stopped telling me no. It made me sad but I think that was the point I realized."
Motorcycle? I knew she rode, she used a little red vintage roadster to get around the city and to classes. She rode quite well, but it didn't occur to me that, at one point, she could've killed herself learning to ride. And I knew about the joyriding—I used to see her at it sometimes, hitting corners at 110 miles per hour, but I figured that it was a way for her to remind herself of me. Selfish, I know.
Cliff diving? Base jumping? It's not enough that she falls when she stands, she has to go free falling off of cliffs and bridges and who knows what else?
But she'd hear me. She did it all just to hear my voice. The thought only made me angrier at myself for leaving at all.
"Realized what?" I whispered, truly afraid of the answer.
"That I was out of love." My heart plummeted. This was worse than any reply I thought she'd come up with.
"What do you mean, you were 'out of love'?"
"All the love I had in me to give was gone. You wanted me to love again and after you left I just couldn't. And I tried, Edward, I really did- I tried connecting with Jake, like the way I had with you but there was something missing; hell, I even tried just sex, but that just left me emptier than ever. And the worst part? I couldn't even cry over you anymore. I still can't. I feel the tears well up but then I think of you and they just dry up, like I've used up all the tears I had for you. And that makes me want to cry but then I still can't. I'm out of love and I'm out of tears for you, Edward."
I didn't know where to begin sorting that out in my head. There was just so much to process in that. But at the crux of it was me—I had done all that to her, I had made her lose the ability to love again, to live, to cry, to practically feel at all! I was ashamed of myself, that I could be so stupid, so naïve to think that she could just pick up and move on when I left her. If I had believed, even just for a minute, that she loved me the way she used to say she had, I surely never would have left. I would have loved her, and loved her properly.
"'Es tan corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido,'" I whispered. She was still, but still awake. I was afraid she hadn't heard me. I continued. "In English it translates to, 'Love is so short, forgetting is so long'. It's Neruda."
"He was right."
There was silence as I looked at her, tried to memorize every new line on her face, the light scars, the near-invisible freckles dusted across her cheeks. She watched me watch her and for a moment the three years we had lost were forgotten.
"I hear the things you used to say, I see your smile, your clothes, you face… I'm surprised," she murmured, breaking the silence.
"Why?" I reveled in her touch and the sound of her voice. Her fingertips were tracing my face lightly and her tone was low and hauntingly enticing.
"Because I don't feel the pain that I used to." I winced at her words, the ever present reminder of what I had done to her. "It used to feel like there was a hole in my chest, a place in me where you belonged and that you took from me when you left. I felt like I was falling apart and I couldn't even breathe when I thought about you. I'd physically hold myself just in case I'd fall apart."
"I'm so sorry, Bella," I whispered, wracked with guilt. "I never intended any of it. I need you to know that."
She just nodded. "I hope you're happy wherever you are, Edward."
I said nothing. I didn't want to lie to her, not after all the lies I had already told her, but I couldn't bring myself to tell her the truth, either. Instead, I leant forward and pressed my lips to hers, feeling her warm, soft lips against mine and relishing the feeling. I kept it chaste despite the rush of emotions flooding through me. I wanted so badly to hold her forever, never leave, just keep kissing her until everything was good again, like the way it used to be.
Bella pulled away after a long moment and looked at me before fluttering her eyes closed. I held her until her breathing evened out. I held her all night, until the grey morning dawned through the window. I hid under the bed when Angela came in to check on her but climbed back beside her to hold her when the door closed again. I held her and kissed her hair, breathing in her scent, and I wished that things had turned out differently.
Her breathing became uneven and she was about to wake up. I wanted to stay, to have her wake up to me and so I could proclaim the love for her that had never died, that we could have our happily ever after. But I knew better. I kissed the crown of her head one last time and darted out to the empty apartment across the street from her bedroom window. I sat and watched her from the window and waited for her to move, wondering if she'd somehow instinctively know that last night was real.
"She won't remember a thing," Alice said behind me. She let her vision flood her mind and I watched. Bella waking up, rolling over and clutching her head, vowing out loud to never drink again. Another vision of her slouched on the couch in sweats and a cup of steaming coffee in hand, telling Eric and Angela that she couldn't remember past her third shot of tequila. "I came to tell you."
I nodded to her and she sat beside me, watching with me. Bella stirred, still asleep, and her fingers touched her lips lightly. I allowed myself a small smile and touched my own fingers to my own lips.