It's cold, bitterly cold. I can see my breath rise up in front of me, twirling like a beautiful dancer caught in the evening air. I grasp my flask of soup as though it's a lifeline as I can feel the temperature dropping by the second. My old gloves have worn-out holes in them and they seldom keep my hands warm any more. The cold permeates my sleeping bag and I feel a shiver run down my spine. Still, I wait.
Curious passers by look on with patronising pity as they take in my dishevelled appearance and tatty cardboard sign. A few hand me pound coins, misunderstanding my predicament. No coins can mend my broken heart. Worse still than their pity is the never ending jeering of those that do understand, of those that have seen me here for the past month solid and know that I'm missing her. They torment me night and day, plaguing me with memories of her. Still, I wait.
The street is hard, my makeshift cardboard bed not sufficing for me to sleep on every night. As soon as I try to sleep, my senses are heightened and I feel every crack on the pavement individually, digging into my muscular sides. I smell every rancid drain nearby until I'm nearly sick. I hear every small rodent, keeping the city alive in the night. I see the heavy, oppressive smog as it coats my airways. I know I shouldn't stay here, but I can't leave until she comes. Still, I wait.
My hair, once the colour of copper pennies, has darkened a few shades with the omnipresent dirt and smog that I live in. It matches my mood, sad and dishevelled. I should really go and have a shower, but I don't want to miss it if she does come past. My hair falls in my eyes and the stubble has reached an inappropriate length. Still, I wait.
The corner where I'm sat has a steady stream of traffic past it, making it hard to rest. Every ten seconds, I hear a rumble and clunker and another car speeds past. To pass time, I count cars and colours. Juvenile I know, but I do anything to take my mind off of her. Inevitably, it returns to her perfection soon enough, causing physical pain in my chest, as if a thousand shards of glass have just exploded by my heart. I miss her so much, I can't even breathe if I dwell on it. I know it's hopeless, but still, I wait.
Every hour, I'm haunted by the crumpled look on her face that lies in my final memory of her. It leaves me in hollow agony to be reminded of the hurt I inadvertently caused her. I'd thought she didn't care for me anymore. I'd known that she was moving away and it had hit me hard. I remember lashing back, trying to offload the pain of losing her, but causing us both more pain in the long run. If only I'd known. If only she'd come back.
I go home for about twenty minutes a day, but it doesn't really feel like a home. It's too big, too empty, too alone without the one I shared it with. I time it when I know she'll be sleeping, when the whole of London is sleeping, at about 5am. I can't miss her if she walks past. I wait diligently, knowing it'll be worth it if she does return.
"Excuse me," says a gruff voice above me.
"Sorry?" I reply, having been lost inside my head as is so often my custom out in this cold street.
"You know I can't let you stay here?" The voice says, rusty and deep. I open my eyes wider and am greeted by a broad-shouldered man with a wide cap on and a shiny badge adorning his uniform. Damn it, a policeman. My heart rate increases, pumping adrenalin all over my body so I'll be ready when he declares a fight. I'd sooner remain calm and mature about this but, if he refuses to let me stay here, there's not a lot else I'll do.
"There's someone I'm waiting for, if it's a day, a month or year," I argue.
"I know, I can read your sign. The problem is that it makes no difference, you still can't stay here," he replies, pulling out an official looking notepad. I gulp.
"No, you can't move me, I have to stay here. I don't cause disruption to anyone, I still pay my rent, I'm still a good citizen, but I can't cope if I don't at least try to get her back. My mind is stuck on an endless loop of her, a replay that's going to drive me insane until she returns. This is the only way I can think of to get her back. It's the first place I'll see her so I can't be moved." I explain.
"Ok, suit yourself, but if his goes on more than a week, you'll be forcibly removed. Consider this your warning." He grumbles, proceeding to walk off with hunched shoulders.
I breath a big sigh of relief and make myself as comfortable as possible on the wide, draughty corner.
The week passes slowly, uneventfully, and I manage to stay sane despite the influx of attention. I have become a curiosity- the man who can't be moved. I'm known city-wide and by people of many nationalities. Ironic, really, that I can capture the attention of so many, yet she's still blind to my actions. Maybe I'll get famous at some point, if the news were to come around. Then she'd have to pay me some mind.
Respite comes briefly on a chilly Wednesday, when a kind old lady appears to understand my plight. She understands, yet doesn't mock. She calmly and silently hands me a take-away cup of coffee and sends me a friendly smile. Her eyes light up and the corners crinkle and she offers me a weathered hand in a gesture of friendliness, the first I've seen on the street. Unbeknown to her, this allows me to stay sane and I realise I'll be forever indebted to her. A simple cup of coffee and a smile can make all the difference, it means that at least one person doesn't think me crazy, an that somehow makes all the difference.
Saturday comes soon enough, and my week is almost up. I furtively glance up and down the street to see if any policemen have come to kick me out. My eyes meet a flash of brunette and I foolishly believe my wait is over. I would know that hair colour anywhere. Sadly, my hope is short-lived as the flash of chocolate disappears around the corner and I realise I must have been mistaken. My heart drops to my stomach and I feel slightly ill. Pained, I close my eyes and count to ten. When the countdown is over, I open my lids and take a long gaze in front of me.
Holy crow.
Glistening brown eyes, her brown eyes, meet mine. I can see every beautiful eyelash delicately framing them and am reminded of every reason why I'm still in love with her. I pinch myself to check that I'm awake and, satisfied that this is the case, I continue in my appraisal of her stunning face. I ghost my calloused fingertips over the flawless lines of her cheekbones, nose, eyebrows and jaw, saving the best for last. I touch her plump red lips gently, noticing as usual how satiny they feel and her eyes grow wide.
"Welcome home," I say softly, layering my tone with adoration.
"You have no idea how nice that sounds," she replies. I become lost in the velvety folds of her voice but dimly register in my subconscious that she missed me. Can it be that she'd forgive me, given all I'd put her through? It has to be worth a try.
"Bella, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have left you like I did. I have so many regrets, not just about how I left you, but just the pure fact thatI did. Goodness knows, it's haunted me since the day you walked away, that crumpled look on your face has plagued my nightmares and my waking days ever since I saw it cross your beautiful features. I know now that I can't live without you, neither would I ever want to. So I guess what I'm trying to say is, will you take me back Bells, even though I'll never deserve you, even though I've put you through hell, will you give us another shot?" I ask sincerely, with all of my heart.
"I'm sorry too. I'm sorry that I didn't put up a fight. I'm sorry that I didn't find you sooner. I've been haunted too, haunted by the hollow look in your eyes as you sealed our fate. You have no idea how it's killed me, thinking that you didn't want me any more. I tried to move on like you asked, I swear, but every time someone did something nice or funny, I always remembered something that you said or did. I've been looking for you for a while now, searching all of the places where I thought you'd be. I'm so glad I found you. So I guess my answer is yes."
"That's all I needed to hear," I reply, pulling her lips to mine in a kiss that conveys all unspoken words. I'm aware of the news cameras clicking but can't bring myself to care as my angel is finally back in my arms. She breaks the kiss first, gasping for air.
"Shall we go somewhere more... private?" I ask softly.
"I was just thinking the same thing," she says. Her voice melts the last of the slowly thawing ice in my heart and I take a deep breath. Picking up my stuff in one hand, I grasp her hand tightly in my other, revelling in the way her fingers fit perfectly in the gaps between mine. It's as if we were made to be this way.
Promising myself that I'll never let her slip through my fingers again, I walk towards my flat with purpose. We've got a lot of missed love to catch up on. I smile broadly, anticipating the evening to come.
~So that is my take on the Script and Twilight, of course I don't own either, as much as I would love to. Have a great day, Laura xxx :)