The rain begins to fall.
A drop lands on her sweater, then another, and another.
You smell so good in the rain.
She twists her mind away from the memory, beautiful as it is; she knows the hole where her heart was will endow her with more. She is not surprised that something as unimportant as a drop of rain would have that significant connotation for her.
More drops fall.
Does it even matter any more? Maybe she'll go numb. Then she could remember him without that wrenching, aching pain that reminds her—
Bella, I don't want you to come with me.
So she remembers.
The crooked smiles and topaz eyes, the way he was so very, very gentle with her. His soft lips on hers and that fiery, passionate desire than burned through her every time he touched her.
The rain falls on her and she collapses to the ground but the conscious part of her doesn't feel the sharpness of the rocks. She can only remember.
The way his eyes burned through hers that last time he looked at her, the icy indifference with which he told her she wasn't his anymore. The way she felt in the seconds after he'd left her.
The rain pours on her, stabs like arrows into her skin. But it doesn't really matter
She stays there so long her clothes are beginning to dry from the rain that fell. She feels better; she gets up and walks to her car. She knows the pain will come later, and Jacob won't be there. She's stopped caring.
She is home suddenly and can't remember getting there. It doesn't matter. She's not thinking anymore.
Just doing.
She unlocks the front door and steps inside. She needs a shower. Charlie won't be happy if she gets sick.
He needs you. Take care of yourself—for him.
Yes. She needs a shower.
The water is hot on her skin and she doesn't stay under the spray long.
She wraps a towel around herself and walks down the hall to her bathroom.
The phone rings.
She turns around. Back down the hall, slowly down the stairs. To the kitchen. It rings again, urgently.
"Hello?" Her voice is rough, but the croakiness doesn't disguise the dead, unfeeling undercurrents of the sound.
There is a sharp intake of breath.
She knows who it is.
We won't bother you again.
She is left with a dull tone, so blandly loud that she jerks away.
Suddenly she is broken again and those goddamn tears are streaking her cheeks again and she doesn't know what to do and in this moment she hates him and she loves so very much and the phone falls to the ground and breaks into pieces and so does she and she can't control anything now—the tears, that damn aching hurt, and the fact that her towel is coming off but she can't do anything—she can only cry and cry until the sobs don't come anymore and she doesn't want to believe that just the sound of that unnecessary breath can rip her apart so fast that the reaction doesn't take more than three seconds and she doesn't understand why he had to call now and it hurts so bad.
A/N: So…. My first Twilight fic. I'm pretty sure that I got carried away and that it's not really good at all. Is it crap? Do you hate it? Why? Tell me. I don't know. Seriously. (If it is, please don't mock me for being blind to my untalented nature. It's a rough world. Sometimes I get lost.) Also, I realize the timing for the phone call is off, but let's just pretend Rosalie is quick with her explanition to Edward.