Heal Me

by tetecruz

Entry for Share Your Imagination Contest - Sometimes your life can change in a single night. She is alone in a bar. Or maybe not. This story is about two people learning to feel again and maybe find a way to try to heal in the process.

Title: Heal Me

Rating: M

Summary: Sometimes your life can change in a single night. She is alone in a bar. Or maybe not. This story is about two people learning to feel again and maybe find a way to try to heal in the process.

Disclamer: Twilight and characters belong to Stephenie Meyer.

Source of Inspiration: My story is inspired by a scene in the movie New York I Love You, where Gus (Bradley Cooper) and Lydia (Drea de Matteo) try to find their way to each other while recalling their one night stand.

A/N:This is my first attempt at FF. It was originally written anonymously to Share Your Imagination Contest. And I must confess that publishing a story leaves me at the same time extremely anxious and happy. I enjoyed reading all the initial reactions and took into account certain criticisms leveled at the original publication. That said, I thank my beta whyfiction and I really hope you enjoy.

-O-O-O-O-O-

I have just lighted my cigarette. And I take a deep breath. Why I am still here? I look to the ground and sigh. I don't know what made be here this night. What was I thinking? I suck once again on my cigarette and look around me. It's just a vicious circle. I feel like I'm being watched, but I'm not.

Beside me stands a building, a bar. It's a common place with common people. I hear glasses clinking and music and laughter. I hear this high screechy laugh from a girl inside. It makes me uncomfortable. I don't know why but it feels like she's mocking me. And although I don't like it, I stand here. I can't leave yet. I just can't.

-O-O-O-O-O-

I'm seated on a high chair at the bar's counter. Playing unconsciously with a napkin. Drifting in my thoughts. I'm not drunk… but I'm not sober either. I just like to feel numb. I take another sip. The whisky slides down my throat and I welcome the bitterness. Enjoy the warmth.

I hide myself here, in this place of noise, alcohol and laughter. It's the perverse in me. I once lived like that but I don't have the meaning to do it now. I'm not depressed and I'm not mourning… but I don't like the place where I am.

When you're 28, you think you have it all figured out. You love your dysfunctional but adoring family and you make them proud of your achievements: an exemplar educational history, a perfect and polite boyfriend and a job that gives you high praises.

But it's like a puzzle. Once one piece is left behind or lost, you're no longer the picture of perfection and pride. I'm no more the loving daughter, the loyal lover or the successful businesswoman. I don't fit anymore in that spot, so I just come to this place of chaos and look for the quietness.

The door of the bar opens. I know because I feel a shiver down my spine. I don't look in that direction. I'm not waiting for anyone. I look up and signal to the waiter for another drink as I gulp the remains of my antidote.

I feel a presence behind me. The person sits beside me in a quiet way. I'm not usually a curious girl but something propels me to look. It's a guy around my age. He has a casual look. He's dressed in these deep blue Levi's jeans that aren't too tight nor too loose, but enough to accentuate his perfect structure. A black t-shirt, a cream cardigan and dark leather jacket and boots finalize the outfit.

He's tall, lean and extremely handsome. But it's his gloomy expression that attracts me. It's as if he has the weight of the world upon his shoulders, but has not given up yet. He didn't give up. His restlessness proves me that.

He's looking intently to his fingers while they play with the condensation of his beer bottle. And something about this movement makes me shudder in the best possible way.

Caught off guard, I turn around and take a long sip from my whisky. It eases through my body and I close my eyes to prolong the feeling it brings. But I'm still aware of his presence; it's like a pull, a magnet of sorts. And so I turn to him once again trying to drink in his enigmatic being. But then I stop.

I stop because I see intense green eyes reflected in my caramel brown ones. We don't acknowledge each other. We just stare.

-O-O-O-O-O-

I am pacing in my living room. I don't know how long I've been here. It looks like hours, days or even years. But I look around and still see the remains of her. A distinct smell of her fragrance melted with alcohol and cigarettes.

My heart is beating so fast. My throat is dried but I'm not thirsty. And I just don't know yet why I can't stop thinking about her. However, the pure memory of her leaves me helpless. This scares me so much due to the fact that yesterday I was dead on my feet.

When I walked into that bar last night, I was a shadow, a ghost. There was only one remaining thought: will this end?

I've always been the right choice. I'm a successful surgeon. I'm that person with the easy smile and I use my powers to heal. I'm not God but I feel close to Him. And that may be the reason why I can't touch the sun anymore.

When my beliefs overtook my obligations, I was no longer the right choice. Because when you are that high you just need one failure to take you down.

You can fight until there are no strengths left but you'll never forget the little boy's smile on his deathbed. That even though he's taken from this world, you're glad he's no longer suffering; no longer watching his parents' silent tears.

So as I entered that bar last night, I was that tormented ghost, until she looked deep into my soul and asked me in soft whispers to take another chance.

It's been hours since she left with no promises of returning. And I know I didn't ask for her assurance, because I knew we were just trying to numb our desires. But I can still taste her. How good it felt to taste the desire in her kiss, the toxic spell in her warmth.

Finally, exhausted, I sit on the couch, raking my fingers through my hair in frustration as I watch the twilight in the sky and the twinkling lights of the city. The turmoil outside matches my thoughts: Who is she? Why do I feel like this?

I close my eyes and digress.

-O-O-

There were only flashes. I see her caramel eyes, her long mahogany hair, her little smile and the soft blush that splashes her cheekbones. I don't remind introductions and I don't know who started. But I remember being enthralled by her.

I remember quite whispers in my ear melted with whisky and some flower scent. I remember the soft touch of her hand in mine and how it made me forget my surroundings. I remember how the desire was spoken in her confident voice.

And then in a blur, we were walking and touching each other everywhere we could, because we didn't want to lose that moment, that sparkle.

In a cab, there were soft lips against mine, hands grasping hair and flesh. We were heat and moans and sighs. Outside my place, although we tried to walk, there're still heavy breaths and clinging bodies consumed with each other.

By the door, still clasping hands, still lingering kisses, I paused for a breath. I had to try to understand what brought us here. Was it just a revelry night where we invoked our pleasures and pains? Was this a single step to something more? Did I really want that? It became too much, and to try to absorb those wavering thoughts I had to physically remove myself from her.

So I let go of her hand and made myself busy with frivolities. I took our coats and hung them on the coat rack by the entry door. I didn't show the house. Mainly because it wasn't that big and we both knew it wasn't a date, so there was no space for formalities.

Then we were facing each other. However, we weren't really. Her eyes were downcast and she kept fidgeting her hands. She wasn't comfortable. And I didn't like it. So in a peace offer, I extend my arm in an inviting motion pointing to the couch. She made a soft smile and followed my advice. But as she sat I could still feel the stiffness in her moves. I didn't want that anymore. I missed her confidence; her provocative words. But I remained behind the couch. I didn't feel confident enough to trespass that line where we would be too eager to not touch, even with the absolute notion that I didn't know the reason why.

"Would you like a drink?", I asked her to divert these feelings of strangeness.

"Whisky… if you may", she answered in a soft voice. She didn't look in my eyes still. So in a gesture of forwardness, I swept my hand through her fragrant hair, and touched her warm neck.

"Of course", I delighted in the small shivers that run through her body as I lingered my hand in her skin. "Any preference?", I inquired. She had to face me. I couldn't read through her discomfort enough to know if she was regretting being here.

And then I was looking into her beautiful brown eyes. She was no longer shy. She was the seductress. She turned and kissed the palm of the hand that was touching her, and said in a quiet spell, "I am not afraid of you. I only fear rejection. But I know you are. And I'd like to help you". She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Then, a crooked smile splashed her features and it was magic. "I take it on the rock, please".

I'm left mouth gaping. All this time I was acknowledging her distress, assuming a feeling that was indeed mine, because throughout this night, we always felt like similar in our countenance. She certainly wasn't me. And yes, I was afraid. Of what, I didn't know yet. It wasn't of her, of that I was sure. But I was certainly afraid of the meaning this night could bring.

Should I let myself feel consoled?

In a few minutes I gathered our drinks. As I return from the kitchen, I saw her standing outside on the balcony lighting a cigarette. She's fueled in sensuality in that moment. Her long and dark hair tossed with the light breeze outside. She had her arms crossed in her chest in a protective way. She's cold. So silently I walk the few steps to her and hand her the goblet of whisky.

"Thank you", she spoke, looking intently to my eyes; still with that crooked smile tarried in her face.

I could faintly hear the soft music from that jazz club downstairs. They were playing Summertime, and the melodic voice of Billie Holliday made me cling to her even more, encircling her shoulders and protecting her from the cold. It brought a distinguished reverence to that moment. I should let myself go.

I began to speak what I should early. "I'm not afraid of you either. It's just that everything feels like it's in shambles in my life now. And I didn't want you to feel obliged to understand it".

It was difficult to explain. But she only nodded in incentive for me to proceed. And I took a sip of the whisky and breathed deeply. I turned my head to the side and focused on the few people walking on the sidewalks.

"I'm a doctor. People expect the best of me. I expect the best of me. And it's difficult to fulfill those expectations often. Mainly because I can feel myself often emotionally drowning… with the pain that my patients pass on. I… I lost a case. A boy. I was sure I could save him. I even assured his parents of that. I had this highly risked procedure to do, but I've never doubted my ability to save him. And initially it went well. And it felt so good. You know… the praises from the hospital; your well renowned doctor father burst in pride; even the press wanted to see this young doctor that performed a miracle…" I looked to her face, trying to gauge a reaction. She knew what was to come. She could hear the failure in my own voice. But she remained attentive and silent.

"It wasn't enough. And I had to tell his parents that I wasn't the miracle doctor because his son was still dying. And I felt so powerless… Suddenly, Dr. Cullen was a failure. And the worst part was that I felt relieved with it". I look into her eyes expecting the well known anger, or even pity that I really didn't deserve. Instead she had her misty eyes focused on mine. And a soft hand reached for my own. With soft strokes on my knuckles she whispered.

"I'm sorry for your loss." I saw her face grimace with an unknown bitter recollection. She brought the glass to her plump lips and drank every drop left. She rested it on the floor then looked into my eyes, and held my hands once again. I could feel her hesitance in her cold hands. Then she closed her eyes, swallowed and began. "One day, I woke up in my bed and everything felt wrong. There was a handsome man beside me. A man that had known me for almost a lifetime. A man that had been by my side every moment. Had seen me graduate with high praises. Had rejoiced when I was offered the amazing job and every step that pulled me up on success. He was patient and lovely. He loved me and my family. And they loved him. He even waited for the perfect time to ask me to marry him. I said "yes" because it was what everyone expected. And although these all felt right, I didn't feel he ever knew the real me. And when I realized that everything felt wrong, even my supportive parents… I just had to run away. I didn't look back and expected they would listen to my reasoning. I didn't stay enough time to listen to them beg me not to leave."

She had tears cascading her cheeks and I wanted to console her. And so I hugged her, drawing small circles in her back. She rested her wet cheek on my chest and softly cried. After a few minutes she started again.

"You shouldn't regret how you feel. I don't regret it. I didn't like the person I was. It all felt fake and too easy to be a life I reached for. It was the difference between living in a dream and letting yourself truly live. I've never loved that man the right way and suddenly I understood that I would never do. I shouldn't have to. As for my parents… ugh… they're too shocked to try to acknowledge my will to become something more. I wanted to be alone and make a do-over of my life. And for once it was my choice. And it felt great."

She looked through my eyes and sobbing she told me, "I just want to feel needed. Without fakeness."

I put her face in my hands, and tried to thumb the anguish reflected. She felt so small in that moment; so tormented. I breathed her whole and kissed every inch of skin in her face. I wanted to drink all her sorrows. But finally, it wasn't enough. I had to build a deep connection to this circumstance. Suddenly there was an urgency to feel her soft lips against mine. And so I kissed languidly her mouth.

It felt so different now.

Then we were in my room, no lights on. We gazed into each other with so much passion and desire but didn't touch, not yet. I took that moment to really see her for the first time. She's beautiful. And despite the explosion of lust that exuded our pores, the bluish light that came from the night outside, gave her an angelic look. This must be the redemption.

We're building the anticipation for something that was beyond our knowledge but we're so eager to get acquainted with. Without tearing her eyes from me, she started undressing. It's like an erotic dance as she hypnotized me. With shaky fingers she dropped her cardigan to the wood floor. And I matched her move. And all of the sudden we're like reflections in a mirror. We undressed the clothes, the numbness, the fears and the doubts. We were equals.

Finally we're naked. And there's no trepidation when in a sensual breath she said "Heal me".

And I took a step forward.

-O-O-O-O-O-

I've been waiting for so long. I don't know if I ever knew what or who brought me here. But I had to wait and find. The cold air outside invited me into the bar. And the reminiscence of yesterday's happenings still lingers around me. I am once again on this chair, with this drink, but I'm not the same person. I don't want to cry but I feel like I lost myself in hopes of healing.

I look down to my drink and play with the lingering condensation. And this position could be ironic, considering the facts. Am I in his place? He was reaching for acceptance and understanding. He just wanted someone to feel connected to. But I don't want to dwell on his ephemeral presence. I'm too afraid to look around, once again, and only see strange faces without entrancing green eyes.

I close my eyes and can still feel his hands, his hot breath throughout my body. I close my eyes and I'm lost in the memory.

-O-O-

We were tangled limbs lying in a bed. We could feel every inch of flesh and desire. Nothing was left untouched, forgotten. His mouth was kissing mine. A powerful kiss with fighting tongues, saliva and hot heavy breaths. I screamed lust in his mouth and he delivered it at the same time.

His hands touched with curiosity. He was learning me. First my hair, then my cheeks, my collarbone, my breasts, my navel, my thighs, my sex.

He played music in my body. There's a deep jazzy rhythm as his fingers roamed every inch of me in a tantalizing tempo. I helped him play this song with my soft moans and sighs of pleasure. We communicated like this. He was opening to me and I partook in his grief.

But it was not lovemaking and we're not ingénues, because suddenly there was fierceness in his touch. He wanted to claim. And I let him.

He incited my chants of pleasure, always trying to gauge my reaction to his strokes. And it was so perfect how this warmth involved me that I was whimpering for more and more and more.

We were breathless and overwhelmed with all, but I wanted to give more too, so I unveiled my shyness and fought for control. And he gave it to me.

I straddled his legs and I knew he wanted me. I could feel it in between my legs and it was so tempting. But instead I used my mouth and tongue, addicted to his taste. The alcohol, still lingering in my breath, so mouthwatering when mixed with his musky scent.

Without one ounce of shame, I kissed his mouth, his neck, his heart and further.

I kissed his length and he trembled. So I played with him and challenged him to voice his pleasure. The room was filled with nothing but sounds of pure lust. He pulled my hair but without force. I looked to his face and was left amazed by his manly grunts and the animalistic way he turned to my powers.

He was so close but he wanted more.

He groaned and pulled me with will and direction. And all at once I was pinned to his bed, to that moment. His deep green eyes journeyed through my perspired body and I shivered in pure anxiety and raw desire.

There was no hesitation in his movements. He pushed into me and as we're united for the first time, we're filled with an intense sensation. I had no words. I just stared, breathless, into his lusty gaze and marveled in his beautiful features, his slight open mouth and the way his jaw tensed with all the emotions he was feeling.

We were desperate lovers. We moved in sync and it all felt so good. He felt so good. I just wanted to give it all but didn't have enough. Finally, I took a deep breath and swallowed the debris of my sorrows and let myself float.

As we rocked our bodies frantically and escalated to a higher feel of surrender I knew I would never forget that moment. Because I realized we were no longer healers. We became the cure.

And we kept playing the song 'til the breaking dawn.

Later, when our lungs were struggling for oxygen and the fatigue didn't allow another move anymore, he nestled on my warm body. We were never far enough, but he wanted to feel even more. So he rested his right hand on my heart and drifted to a heavy sleep. And I was left there, with that beautiful view of a satiated man that shared his grief with me willingly.

Mesmerized by his perfect features and altruistic manners, I let myself relive in my head all the happenings of that night. But I didn't know if it was right to stay. So silently, I dressed myself and moved to the door. Before I reached it, I turned once again and whispered quietly, "Thank you." I hope you find me someday.

-O-O-O-O-O-

I shower. I dress myself. I get out to the immensity of the city. I have a purpose. I don't know where she is but I have to find her. This physical need for her weighs on my body like a ton of bricks.

She came to me like a siren to a sailor and saved me from drowning. And I was left with this intense emotion of completion. We were better together.

We don't have to give up. I don't want to give up.

She left my apartment without that confirmation. But we're not strangers anymore. We're not faceless patrons in a bar trying to forget. Trying to feel more.

I need her. And as I start to run through the streets, I covet her whole being and I long to see her shy eyes and smile. I look everywhere desperately. I'm drawn to this anxious feeling that I'll never see her again. That it will be too late. But I don't want to lose hope.

I know now that I'm hungry for her. I don't really know in what capacity, but I certainly am sure that we can try to mend the pieces together.

I march purposefully and recall all the details that bound us together last night. I want to hear her again in her ecstasy fueled cry when she chants my name, as her body arches in orgasm. And I know that we're no longer nameless ones in a hazy alcohol induced night.

We are Edward and Bella.

-O-O-O-O-O-

It's 12.30 and I start to leave the bar. There's this tightness in my heart and I don't want to give it a name. I'm hopeless and left with no getaway. I thought he felt the same. It makes me nauseous thinking that I left myself drift in a dream that we could be together. I spent these hours trying to find a meaning to my presence here tonight. I had hoped that he would find me like last night.

And so, with heavy shoulders, I drag myself to the street.

I breathe the cold air. I welcome it and try to wake up my senses. I don't feel numb anymore. I was left without hope. He was so close to fill that void that has been in my life and, for those few blissful hours, I thought we were equally healing. I don't want to leave yet. I feel like a masochist. I have to feel every pain from my actions. I know I don't regret, but I'm just sad.

I light a cigarette. I don't know if it's for distraction or just my unconscious reflex to delay my departure. I can still hear the sounds of the remaining party-goers. They drink, they talk, they laugh. Are they laughing at me? I can't rejoice in their happiness. I'm not allowed.

It's so strange thinking that, for one time in my life, I let myself feel the depths of surrender. I knew that initially I just wanted him for a replacement. Maybe he would be like another drug to numb the lonely nights. But we were there together. It could have been the words spoken, the kisses shared, or even the understanding reflected in our eyes. But I know that when I left his apartment this morning, other feelings came to light. From the compassion shared, a deep sense of belonging emerged. And even maybe the possibility of an even deeper one… love?

I finish my cigarette and drop it. It's time to go. So I take a deep breath, gather my strengths and turn to leave. I can't help to linger on a cruel certainty: the overwhelming sense of rejection.

As I start to walk and turn the corner, I finally hear him. It's almost a whisper but it blows with the wind, so I'm certain that it's him. I craved his velvet voice. I remember his despair as he clinged to me in the throes of passion and want. But at first, I don't stop and turn. I'm too scared to look back and project my last hopes. I'm afraid of the hallucination. I'm afraid of emptiness. But then…I know.

"I need you, Bella" he speaks softly.

One single tear slides my cheek. This common place brought us together and it's so easy to picture the future. Because as I turn and look into those smoldering green eyes, I know that he felt the same. We're no longer alone. We will heal each other.

The End