A/N: This story is based off the song 'The Man Who Can't Be Moved' by The Script.
Please enjoy!
Twenty-one days
September thirteenth, the day of Bella's birthday, Edward decided that he couldn't fucking take it anymore. Blinded by grief and tears, he tore through his apartment and packed the few things he thought he'd need, forgetting quite a few of the essentials in the process, but he would learn to acquire them at a later stage. Now, all that mattered was that he needed to get out, and go back to the one place where he was sure he would find his heart, waiting for him, sitting on the pavement or standing in line for a good strong cup of coffee to get it to work again.
Edward had made mistakes, you see. He had realized only recently that the decisions he had made were mistakes, when he woke up to feel the warmth of sun and sleep on his skin, a heat in his groin but a biting cold at his side, where not too long a go another warmth should have been curled into the crook of his arm.
At first, he had been too caught up in his own mind and had occupied himself with processing the events prior to his break-up with Bella. He had mauled everything over in his mind and had wallowed in self-pity, not for losing Bella, but for other things that had caused him to break up with her in the first place. Only when his best friend, Emmett, had told him to drag his ass out of his apartment and do some proper fucking work in stead of the half-assed brainstorming he'd been doing for his new novel, did he take the time to realize what the consequences were for both him and Bella.
It was when he sat down at the café he frequented, his note pad propped up in front of him, pen at the ready to make notes about the first person coming through the door as a way of warming up, that he was about to realize what he had done.
A couple came walking through the door, smiles on their faces, but the man's was almost malicious and the girl's eyes were scared. Neither smile was sincere. The man held her firmly by her upper arm, probably hurting her in the process. If he squinted, he could see the bruises at her wrists. She went out of her way to move with him in whatever way pleased him, but it was out of fear and not out of love. As he sat there, contemplating in those few seconds what could have brought the man to abuse the girl, he realized that the man was probably venting out some unresolved issues on his girl, too dysfunctional to know of a healthy, harmless way to do the same thing.
He had brought the tip of his pen to the paper, trying to imagine the background story of this man. Probably rejected by his parents at a young age, thus brought up in a hostile environment where he had to fend everyone off with swift, piercing words and snarls, where he had to fight for his demands and where he had to take care of himself because nobody else would do so. Consequentially, he had become unable to accept any kind of help and always felt like he had to fight for his belongings and defended them fervently, probably hurting his possessions more than he protected them.
When he had written this down and read it over once more, he brought his eyes up to the couple again, who had sat down in a booth about midway between the door and where he sat, next to each other rather than opposite of each other. Again, not out of love, but because the man wanted to keep a firm hold on the girl. His greasy, blonde hair brushed her cheek as he leaned in to whisper something. Over his shoulder, the eyes of the girl wandered around the café until they met Edward's and he had felt a painful tug in his chest.
Chocolate brown.
All at once, the memories came flooding back. The many times he'd seen that same colour, though Bella's eyes were a little rounder than this girl's (her outer corners were drooping a bit, he noted mentally), he had felt nothing but joy, happiness and yes, even love. He'd seen them in twilight, in the dark when they were glazed over with lust, in the bright sun when they were sparkling and he'd last seen them when they were glistening with tears.
He was no better than this man, hurting what he valued the most.
When he looked down again, reading over the information he had jotted down about the man, who was now scowling in his direction, he frowned, his mouth hanging open. He hadn't written the background story on the man at all. He had just written his own background story.
He hadn't intended to at all. It was just some cunning trick of his mind and he cursed himself for it. He pushed away the notepad furiously, blinking away tears, taking a big mouthful of the still too hot coffee in front of him, burning his mouth. He welcomed the pain. Anything to distract him from the memories that were threatening to drown him. In a last attempt to stay afloat, he gulped his coffee down in three more gulps, and then he had nothing left to distract him with and his eyes were pulled back to the couple. One deep breath, fighting one last time, closing his eyes tightly but it was in vain. He fell under the waves, and for the time being, felt himself being rocked back and forth violently as the memories ripped through him.
'I love you.'
Edward pulled at his hair, messing it up even more than usual. He was a dick. An outright motherfucking bastard who didn't deserve to have a girl like Bella in the first place. He finally had something to hold on to, something to look forward to, something he could like, appreciate, admire and even love, although he hadn't realized it at the time. All he had done was hurt her and push her further away, tearing her down at the moment she had opened up to him and shown her most vulnerable self.
'I love you.'
The words ran through his head loud and clear, the soft timbre of her voice doing things to his body like no other voice could. The sultry cooing, the insecurity that rang through her words when she had repeated her statement. They contradicted each other, and yet it was only logical that Bella wanted to show that she could do this, could be the seductive, self-confident woman that, sure, was somewhere inside her. But, Bella was still an insecure little girl when it came to matters of the heart, inexperienced and it was a damn shame that she had to learn from Edward what he had learned long ago.
Love hurts.
He sat up in bed, throwing the sheets violently of him to her side of the bed and rubbed his eyes furiously, trying to will the words away. No good could ever come from them. All she'd do was take them back if he reciprocated and he was already too fucked up to allow anything like that ever happening to him again.
'I love you,' she whispered now for the third, tears eminent in her voice.
Edward sighed deeply and kept his gaze fixed to the wall opposite of them. They were in her apartment, in her bedroom, walls a soft hue of purple and white furniture. Pink cheeks and cream thighs and brown eyes and red mouth and god, why did he have to soil it all with his charred heart?
'I'm not capable of love.'
His voice was cold as ice, solid like rock and a brick wall to Bella's face. He could hear her shifting, felt her hands on his arms, her lips to his spine, hair that was not his flowing down his back. Her hands squeezed softly, holding on in case he'd move.
'Yes, you are,' she whispered. She brushed her forehead from one shoulder blade to the other and blew softly down his back. 'You've given me you. You told me everything about you. I know you.'
Edward squeezed his eyes shut tightly and his posture went rigid. Earlier that week, they had talked about his past, about how his parents had never been there for him, how it had fucked him up and how scarred he really was. He had never intended to drag her along into his problems, but it had happened and he didn't know how. It had scared him to death that she knew so much about him, knew just where to push him and how to make him say 'yes'. They had been together for six months at that point and he had never cried in her presence. He only did so behind locked doors and god, did he do that frequently.
That night he had told her, they had sat together on her couch and she had asked him to tell about his parents and fuck, he just vomited it all out. It was freaky, scary and intense, the power that Bella had over him. He was losing control quickly and he nearly had an anxiety attack. He didn't allow himself to cry, but his shoulders had been shaking and when they had gone to bed that night, Bella had been certain to fuck him gently, just like he had needed it at the time.
In the middle of the night, he had gotten out of bed and written a note, making some half-assed excuse about a jogging meeting with Emmett.
He never went jogging.
Bella never said a word.
'You love me,' Bella concluded, interrupting his reminiscing.
At this, Edward pulled away from her roughly and stood up, turning around and not caring that he was stark naked. His eyes burned as he spit the poison that lied on his tongue.
'I don't love you.'
And there, Bella's little confidence had been torn down. He was staring now, quite harshly so, at Bella's Ground Zero. The life left her eyes. She could have argued, but she knew that she'd lose. In fact, she knew that she'd lost. He left her with tears streaming down her face and got dressed. He left the apartment without another word, trying to block out the sobbing that came from the bedroom.
Edward went to the bathroom and locked himself into a stall, sitting down on the lidded toilet. There, he allowed the tears to flow freely.
He was no better than the man with the greasy hair. He had made Bella like that scared little girl at the man's side. He might not have bruised her wrists, but he had wounded her heart and soul. And like the couple, no decision he had made had ever been out of love, unlike the decisions Bella made. He had been consumed by his fears, his fear of hurt, his fear of failure, his fear of success and most of all his fear of love and the strong grip it had on him. He feared Bella, too. She had opened herself up to him like he never could to her.
After he cleaned his face from the tears, he left the café, offering the young woman at the man's side a weak smile, earning him another scowl from the man with the greasy blonde hair.
The next week, much to Emmett's dismay, he sat in his room contemplating the events of that day. The more he thought about it, the more he became aware of the terrible mistakes he had made. He admired Bella, envied her and wanted nothing more than for her to grow and become that strong, confident woman he knew she could be. She had showed it when she told him she loved him and though he had declared it an act, he know realized that it was him acting, and not her.
He loved her, and he couldn't deny it.
It was September thirteenth when he finally understood.
He packed his cell phone, dug through his refrigerator and cupboards for some canned foods, packed a sleeping bag, a watch, his wallet, a warm sweater, a rainproof cape, a piece of cardboard, a pen and a picture of Bella he had held on to despite everything. Subconsciously, he must have already known that he couldn't let her go.
He ran from his apartment, barely remembering to lock the door behind him. He ran through the crowds, all the twelve blocks to the one place where he was sure he would find his heart, waiting for him, sitting on the pavement or standing in line for a good strong cup of coffee to get it to work again.
It turned out that going to that one corner of the street was enough to get his heart to work again. It still hurt, there was definitely pain, but he had now found something that he could do passionately. With his heart.
He would make up for his mistakes, in the only way he knew to chastise himself, the only way that turned out to be effective over the years. Asceticism.
When he stopped running, he found himself on the corner of the street where he had first bumped into Bella, spilling her coffee all over her as she had just stepped out of the coffee shop he was standing in front of right now. He was breathing heavily as he dropped his back to the ground and turned around to face the busy street. With a deep sigh, he dropped himself to the pavement, crossed his legs and held his face in his hands while his elbows were propped up on his knees. He sat there for a couple of minutes, trying to decide if he really was going to do this.
'Son, are you alright?'
And elderly man stood next to him, tapping the pavement with his walking cane. Edward looked up, his hair a mess, his emerald eyes a wild disarray. For the first time in three weeks, he broke a smile and answered as truthfully as he could.
'Not really, sir, but I'm taking a step back to look at things.'
The man looked at him with a little frown, then he broke into a grin.
'Good. There are more young men who should do just the same.' He clapped Edward's shoulder twice. 'You'll be alright.'
The words rang true in Edward's ears. In the half minute it took to carry out that conversation, he had decided that he would stand his ground and not move from the spot he was occupying right now. For three weeks, the exact time that he had neglected to realize that he should have reciprocated Bella's feelings [I]and[/I] voiced them, he would sit on the pavement and wait for Bella. He'd camp in his sleeping bag, face rain and wind and snow if necessary, waiting for someone to tell her where he was.
If one day, she woke up, remembering their time together and if by some miracle she was interested to know where he was and how he was doing, this was the first place she would go. She'd see him waiting for her on the corner of the street where they first saw each other.
'Thank you for your concern, sir,' he called after the man, and earned himself another grin. Grinning himself, Edward began to install himself on the pavement. He got out the cardboard and wrote the message he wanted to share on it and set it against his bag. He placed Bella's photograph against the cardboard and put his watch in front of him.
Admiring his work, Edward sat back and began to count. Twenty-one days left.
'If you see this girl, please tell her where I am', said his cardboard sign. With a little frown, he picked the cardboard up again and added a little something.
'So I can tell her I'm sorry'.
A couple of people glanced at the bronze-haired man sitting on the street. Some broke into smiles when they saw his sign, some frowned. Edward paid them no attention. If, after twenty-one days, Bella hadn't found him yet, he would consider his self-inflicted punishment fulfilled and he would go to her himself and apologize for his mistakes.
Until that time, he wasn't moving.
Thank you for reading! Please leave a review and tell me what you think.
