Okay, originally this started off as an innocent iPod drabble to get the creative juices flowing, and then I swear Shonda stole our shared brain and hi-jacked my plot... so, this did belong to me until she decided to steal it, but only Belfastgirly will believe me. :P Thanks to the amazing Gauzepaws who read over this and encouraged me to post, yes I did fangirl... Also thanks to V and Alma for pushing me to post. To Soricha who kicked my butt back into writing mode and as always to the wonderful Mel, who well, she just owns... end of... Hope you all enjoy... Callies POV
She stands in my doorway, with that look on her face like she's trying to apologise for everything and all I can think is how hard I want to slam the door. Like literally throw the door into the hole I created when I opened it, and listen as the sound reverberates through the empty hallways shaking her where she stands and letting her know that's exactly how she made my heart feel the moment she turned her back on me. But I can't.
I see the tears falling down her face, and I'm reminded of my own for the past few months, and how with each one that fell I tried to love her less. It didn't work. I want to tell her it's too late for sorry… that I can't sit around and wait for her to decide she wants me, I'm worth far more than that… at least, that's what I'm working on telling myself with every passing day without her. Now she's here, and I'm frozen.
My hands won't move like I tell them to, instead they almost go against my wishes, clinging to the door as if punishing me for giving up. Forcing me to stare into those ocean eyes I could happily have drowned in months ago, back when things were good, when this was a fight I felt I could lose. After weeks of telling myself I was over her, here I was feeling as powerless as I ever did, watching the glimmer of hope in her eyes as a small smile tugged on the corners of her mouth lifting them towards the heavens I'd have taken her to if she would have stayed and then it hit me, she left, and I deserved more.
Shaking my head, I allowed my gaze to fall to the floor, pushing with all the strength I could find as the door closed and blocked her view. Turning my back to where I knew she still stood, I allowed it to slide down the door till I found solace on the floor, my legs shaking and my heart pounding so hard I could barely breathe, my head collapsing into my knees which I held to my chest in desperation. It's over now.
I can hear her outside, hear the muffling of her voice as she tries in vain to hold back the tears I knew could easily have filled an ocean, I know because I cried them too, the difference between us, was that I would have swam a sea of tears to be with her, but she said she would be happier, without me. I would and did, give up everything I held dear, because in all honesty it meant more to hold her and yet all I can remember when I close my eyes and cup my face with my hands to catch the falling memories, is that she never fought for me. I tried telling her this was a two way street, I told her if she left without me that was it, but I never really meant it, I thought she'd stay. I thought the threat of losing me forever would be cause enough to stop her in her tracks and make her realise what we had was special, clearly I wasn't special enough.
She's breaking now, my name falling from her lips surrounded by pleas and cries of 'I'm sorry' she should never have had to utter. I clench my hands into fists not out of anger, but more to stop myself from splaying them at either side of myself and getting to my feet, my hands are the betrayers, if I gave them an inch they'd take a mile and within minutes be tangled in her hair and encouraging my lips to take hers. I can't allow that, not just yet, as much as I have ached for her, I need to know she has ached for me, like literally. I know people think I'm weak, and I give my heart too easy, but I gave her so much more than I've ever given anyone else, she had all of me, wore my heart around her neck and then with a simple offer of a sunnier climate and the prospect of having to hear me bitch for sixteen hours, she threw it away.
I know I was wrong, I know I wasn't the supportive, caring girlfriend she needed, but I was proud. Every second of every day since I heard she had won, I was beaming, albeit it on the inside. I blame myself, I have done from the moment I saw in her eyes the need to get away from me, the need to want to be somewhere I was, the moment I heard her say those words I blame myself. It's that feeling of blame that sits on my shoulders like a weight I've never felt in such magnitude and it's that blame, that's stopping me from getting to my feet, from opening the door, and taking her into my arms. The place she should never have left.
These past few weeks for her have been about loss, have been about missing me, about trying to find happiness without me, and she's realised she can't be. For me, the past few weeks have been about me accepting that maybe I wasn't who she needed, I wasn't good enough for her, and that if what we had wasn't worth changing her dreams for, then maybe she was better living life for herself. I overheard her once, saying she found me miraculous, I should have told her that the only thing miraculous about me, was that I had found her, and convinced her I was worth the risk. There's a lot of things I should have told her, and as I sit here on the cold hard floor, my body numbing slowly from the cries I hear seeping under the door, I wonder if I'll ever find the courage to tell her them.
I think about letting her in, about swallowing my pride, letting down my guard and opening the door but I can't, it's not fair to either of us to just pretend this never happened, as easy as it would be for me to just accept her apologies and hope that things could be the same, how can anything be the same when the woman you love, left you.
I can feel her, sitting in the same position I am, back against the door that's separated me from her for the past two months and I turn, lift one hand and let it trace her outline through the two inch solid shape. I close my eyes and imagine cupping her face, my thumb brushing away at her the tears of sorrow that roll down her cheeks as freely as she is willing to let them, her heart finally opening up and allowing her to feel. I know it's hard for her, she a proud, independent woman and it's hard for her to admit defeat, but I know in this second she's already laid her armour down. I imagine the softness of her skin beneath my touch, her cheeks cold with the winter wind she's walked through to get to me, inhaling I can smell the heady mixture of her perfume and the salt that lingers on her lips, and it's that combination that really signals this is real.
I have dreamt of this, wished on night stars I could see from the balcony of the hotel room I made my home for a month that I would open the door and see her again. Each time my fingers touched the cold metal handles of a door, I would expect a vision in blonde and perky standing before me, with an apology and smile, and a promise that forever was still a possibility. I was a dreamer back then, but reality smacked me in the face with an empty threshold and a string of ungranted wishes, maybe I was greedy, maybe I should have limited my wishes to one per night, instead of sitting on the balcony and wishing for her on every star that dared sparkle in my vision. I was desperate, I needed to believe that there was a way she could come back to me, and my faith in her love for me was so shot, I resorted to childhood beliefs, because they're the purest kind, they're the kinds of beliefs and wishes that would have power to do amazing things, to bring happiness to the saddest of people, to fix the unfixable and to bring her back to me.
I whisper her name, hoping she can hear me, as I start a speech I know I need to get off my chest, hearing her shift against the door and I know she has her ear pressed to the wood, head resting against the door, her knees pulled to her chest. I want to comfort her, but I want her to know I need comfort too; I need answers to questions that have left me wide awake during hours I should have been holding her. I need to know, why now? Why at this moment is she here, why not earlier, I mean if she had missed me as much as her tale of tears and throat so raw from exhaustion suggests, then why didn't she call me? She wrote to Teddy, I mean, am I not worthy of her words, had she lost them somewhere over the ocean during that plane ride I could have endured with her? Why didn't she tell me she didn't want to be with me, sooner, was this some sort of last minute decision, and if so is that what our relationship boiled down to, a quick yes or no, a quick stay or go? That thought alone felt like a kick in the stomach, my body doubling over as I moved to my knees.
Pressing both hands against the door I steady myself, letting out a breath as I continue my assault of words, tears I thought I had long since shed, blurring my vision as I manage to muster up the courage to get to my feet, my legs shaking beneath me, wavering like my faith had since she left. I reach out to where my coat hangs beside the door, pulling it from its confines and wrapping it around me, one hand pushing at the shoulder length carefree curls that secretly remind me of her, pushing them into place before my hand found the door again. My hand shaking despite being assured of the sight I would see this time, I shook my head free of the questions that were pressing me, deciding that a rehearsed speech would only seem desperate, would only give her reason for minimal effort, when what I needed to see was her ability to fight for me, her need to fight for me, for us. If I was what she wanted, if I was still her 'girlfriend' like she had slipped out mere minutes ago, why had she told me we were over?
Twisting the handle to the door, my eyes wandered over her shape, her body small and fragile with worry, her tears staining a face I'd paint in my dreams using the purest of colours. I saw her heart aching as she looked at me, those eyes filled with apologies she could barely speak. I shook my head, biting down on my bottom lip as I surprised myself in extending my hand towards her, feeling the cold of her touch as her hand slid into my own and I pulled her to her feet. She offered me a small smile, a smile that begged for acceptance, a smile that masqued the hurt she felt, and the nights she knew we'd gone without. I took her in, feeling the perfect wash of warmth that came with loving her and as much as I had promised myself I wouldn't do this, I couldn't help but open my mouth and speak, and when I did… I knew things would never be the same.
"Why wasn't I enough for you?"
More to come x