After He Left.
Written by xlovestory
Started: 8/11/09; Completed: 10/11/09
Characters: Bella (POV), Edward.
----
I stretched my hand out, feeling the cold nip at my uncovered fingertips as I haled a taxi. I shivered, gathering the expensive, yet cosy scarf that Alice had bought my last Christmas closer to me, tugging it firmly around my neck. The city of New York was beautiful at this time for night on a Friday. Shops were closing down and the clubs were beginning to open. The lights, strong and bright, twinkled through the city, reminding you that you were in the centre of the world. Just looking around and taking in this wonder always made me smile. A yellow rectangle flew across my vision, taking me from my thoughts. The taxi parked precariously on the curb, my toes almost trodden on by the dirty wheels. I stepped back slightly, trying not the glare at the driver, before I opened the door and slotted myself inside, out of the wind.
"Where to, Miss?" The driver asked, his eyes firmly on the road, his voice monotone. I gave him my address and within seconds we were speeding along the streets. I relished in the warmth that the taxi gave me, snuggling further into the seat as I leant my head on the window. I watched as the millions of people melted into one great haze.
Then my eyes locked on a familiar head of bronze hair.
My head shot up, my hands pressed tightly into the window pane, threatening to push it out with my shock. It was nothing but a glance, a second long look, and we were already away from the scene of the event. My stomach churned with uneasiness and anticipation all wrapped in one. I sank back into the seat, less relaxed than I was before, my mind whirring with activity.
It couldn't have been him. Impossible. I hadn't seen this particular man in seven months, ever since we got carried away one night. It was unplanned, but never the less an amazing night - one I would cherish forever.
Too many drinks.
A long walk home.
An invite for coffee inside.
Laughs and wandering hands.
Falling back onto cold sheets.
The mixture of heat.
Contented sighs.
And when I'd woken up the next morning, blurry eyes and all I was met with nothing. He, Edward Cullen, had left without a word. I should have expected as much, but that thought hadn't even crossed my mind. I had been caught up in the moment, happy to be with a guy that I'd learned to love over a matter of months. But then he had left, with the only trace of him being there the scent of sex hanging in my bedroom. It was as if he'd never existed.
The taxi jerked to a stop outside my apartment. I handed over the money, collected the change, and exited the car, walking quickly until I was up the steps and in my house. The chilly nights never agreed with me; neither did the ice that was sure to coat the streets tomorrow morning.
The change in temperature made my body shudder. I quickly slipped off my coat, hanging it on the hook beside my door, before walking into the living room.
I felt a crunch under my feet, soft and hard at the same time, melting into nothing under my sole. I quickly stepped back, my eyes flitting to the place my foot had been. Slightly crushed, but no less beautiful; a single white rose, it's stem twisted in the centre, some thorns knocked off onto the floor. The petals, now coated the with dust that had been on the sole of my shoe, were tattered: torn beyond repair. My heart clenched. I bent down, sighing as I went, and lifted the broken flower from the floor. It hung limply from my grasp. Holding it carefully I walked from the hall to the living room, to the small table in the right-hand corner of the room. I placed the rose where I'd placed the others; on a white sheet of paper, where I could watch them fade and wither, just as my 'relationship' with Edward had.
I had no doubt that this was his doing. His way of telling me that he was still around, still thinking fondly of me. They were unexpected, but a lovely gesture, one that I couldn't help but wish was replaced by his own presence. The first one arrived when I was at work. It was pink, the colour growing lighter as it hit the tip of the petals. My assistant, Angela, had simply laid it on my desk, in front of my eyes. I'd looked up, questioningly. She'd simply smiled, before walking away. It had taken me a while., but I'd worked out it's significance.
I'd received the pink rose on Monday, at 12:13pm.
The exact day, and exact time I'd met him. Wearing pink, if I may add.
Others had followed, each with their own significance and colour. Yellow for the surprisingly sunny day I met him in the park. A shade of lilac for the day he's spotted the same colour of paint on my blouse - I'd been decorating. And even blue - he came up with colours for roses I'd never known had existed - for the day he'd left, when I'd given him a 'going-away' present. A silk, blue tie.
I stared at the white rose, wondering what on earth this one could ever mean. It puzzled me. It confused me. It made me ache for his presence even more. These flowers were becoming my lifeline - a way of knowing that even though he wasn't here, he was still… mine. In some way, as he had captured me, I had captured him. And even if I couldn't hear him say it himself, the roses said it all. But with the good points, came the bad. I didn't want a flower, I wanted him in the flesh. This wasn't the same - it was a game he was playing, which I was fast becoming bored of. What I really wanted to know was if he was ever going to reappear, or if he was only going to come to me as something that would eventually die.
I felt a dampness appear on my cheek. I lifted a hand and quickly swiped it away. I hated this, and loved it at the same time. It was unfair, and generous. Such a contrast that was making me weak. It angered me that I was foolish enough to be held by a man that may never appear again. Sometimes - not like today - I would tear the petals into little pieces in my rage; I would become so angry that he wasn't just… here. But then I'd remember that it was better than nothing at all. It was better than having no contact with him. Still, my hands clenched at me sides. I was done waiting for him - I couldn't continue this anymore.
A knock on the front door made me jump. I hastily wiped my hands over my face, desperately trying to shake the signs of my tears. They were useless, after all - they wouldn't magically make him appear. I flattened out my clothes before walking to the door, my eyes on the spot of where the last rose had been.
The air was knocked out of me when I was met with his face on the other side of the door. I gaped, then conscious of that fact, closed my mouth quickly - my eyes continued to state my shock. He looked more glorious than ever. Tired, with darkness under the eye, but nonetheless beautiful. I closed my eyes, fearful that when I opened them again he wouldn't be here; just a vision. As softness touched my cheek, and my eyes snapped open. And there he was, hand held out, dragging the petals of a red rose down the skin of my cheek - right down the path that my tears had taken. He knew me too well. My eyes met his, and he pled with me to forgive him. And how could I not?
So I let go of my anger, took the rose into my own grasp, and let him come inside.
He had returned.
----
A/N; Hello all. No, I'm not dead. I'm sorry I haven't uploaded anything in a few months. Once I had finished MBD I felt like I needed a break. Between that and the extensive workload right now, I just had no time to write at all. But this short and snappy story is to make up for it. Just like many of my pieces, it came to me in a dream. So I simply went with it. I hope you enjoyed it, possibly enough to review? (:
Also, keep checking back for something new from me. I'm working on a new piece, still un-named. It's completely from Edward's POV, and it's only short - ten chapters at least. I've been bouncing back and forth with it, but when I get my new laptop I hope I'll be more inspired.
Anyway, that's an update of my writing, and something new for you to read. Until later…