Stephenie Meyer owns the characters. The rest is mine.
As always, thanks to my fellow Rockstar friend Mari. I heart you.
Please read the A/N at the bottom.
Chapter 2: Pink Ribbons and Red Anger.
Where there is anger, there is always pain underneath.
Eckhart Tolle.
Can't make it today…rain check?
I don't know how many times I've read that text message in the past half hour. My fingers linger over the keys, without having a clue of what to reply.
The first feeling I got after reading it was fear. This is my biggest nightmare turned into reality. She's not coming. She lied. She promised she'll be back in two weeks and now she's not.
It's 10:30 on a Saturday morning. I've been up for two hours now, doing research for a new case. The desk in my study is filled with books, police records, list of relevant names and all the things I need to get my mind in the game. But my prepping was interrupted by the sound of my cell phone chipping in the living room. When I saw her name flashing on the screen, a goofy smile appeared on my face, thinking the contents of the message would be light, fun, flirty.
Instead, I have to read that she can't be here today. This has never happened before. She's never cancelled on me. The fact that she's decided not to come it's more than upsetting. I don't know how I'm supposed to react. What should I answer? It's ok? We can see each other another day? That hardly sounds as what I'm thinking right now. But then again, I've never expressed my feelings to her to their full extent.
I toss the phone to the couch and run my hand through my hair for the fifteenth time in the past twenty minutes. I start pacing the room and end up in the kitchen, searching for something to drink that would ease up my anxiety.
After lots of rummaging around, I decide it's too early to drink, so I go for some cold water. Maybe that will calm me down. Of course it won't. I tell myself internally. The reality is nothing can calm me down.
This isn't exactly the first time I've gotten my hopes up, just to be let down.I've tried so many times to get her to do other stuffs with me. I've invited her out on dates during weekdays but she always said no. I know deep down, I shouldn't be surprised but the truth is she's never broken a promise before. When she's said she'll be here she has been. Dates are just a whole other subject.
If she's going to see me, it's on her terms. She decides the place, the hour, the date. I just have to show up and try not to make her angry.
Once I'm finished with my water, I go back to the kitchen. I don't know what I'm looking for. I'm just lost. Sitting on one of the metal stools there, something pink on the far end of the breakfast bar catches my eye. I stare and stare willing the object to magically float to me, so that I can take a better look at it. Sighing, I stand up and reach for it. It's a ribbon. Unconsciously, I bring it to my nose, inhaling the faint scent left in it. It's hers. My fingers stroke the soft piece over and over. I compare it to her skin; delicate, feminine, fragile.
Despite my best efforts not to, the memory of that day comes to me easily. I remember everything there is to remember of all of our moments together. That afternoon two months ago, is no exception.
I'm sitting in my bed with my laptop in front of me. It's January, therefore it's still snowing. Even though things have been pretty slow at the law firm, I'm still forced to be working from home on a Friday. As usual, all sorts of papers are lying around me, scattered randomly in the bed. While I try to concentrate really bad in my analysis, I keep checking the clock. She's coming tonight. I reason with myself it's only 3:00 p.m. but I can't help it. I'm desperate for her to get here.
At 3:20 I've convinced myself again how much I love my job so I get engrossed in my reading only to be interrupted by a strange noise. After affirming myself it's nothing, I try to focus again but a voice by my door keeps me from it.
"Hello handsome." Bella is standing in the entry of my room covered in tiny snowflakes. She's wearing a heavy cream colored coat and is holding a brown paper bag. She looks perfect.
"Hi! You're early." I can barely contain the huge smile on my face. I feel less embarrassed about it, when I realize she's smiling as well.
"Yes, I thought I could keep you from missing me so much. Thank God I did, you look like you need a distraction." She's walking into the room, taking off her coat as she goes and placing the bag on the floor.
When she reaches the end of the bed, she lays her palms flat on the mattress and starts crawling to me, crinkling the papers in the process. I'm fascinated by the movement of her body, entranced as usual, with everything she does. Of course I get lost in her actions and next thing I know she has closed my laptop and has found her way across my lap. Her arms are on my neck while my hands are placed at the small of her back. Her deep brown eyes are glowing with a contentment I rarely get to see. I treasure this moment, before inching closer to her lips and kiss her. It's a light peck that evolves into more leaving me breathless and incredibly happy.
"You are, of course, the perfect distraction, sweetheart." I tell her while kissing tenderly on her neck.
Unbelievably she's wearing her hair up today. I take advantage of that with my lips, my tongue, and my teeth. The quickening of her breathing spurs me on to fumble with the bottoms of her blouse. Once I succeed, she dedicates to get me out of my shirt. The feeling I get with the skin to skin contact is otherworldly. I can't get enough of her skin, her scent, all of her. I try as hard as I can to place my hands in her entire form at the same time. When I reach to caress her long hair, I find myself tugging at the ponytail she's wearing today.
Momentarily, I'm distracted by the abnormality of this fact. Bella has expressed to me before how much she hates wearing her hair up. She says it makes her look old, regardless of me assuring her that she doesn't.
"Your hair's up." I comment to her breathlessly while she nibbles my neck.
"Yeah…It's…um, I was… making a cheerleader… demonstration." She answers me in between kisses and little bites that are slowly driving me insane with lust.
I can't help being amazed at the strange things Bella has to do for her job. She's the art director of a well known fashion magazine. Apart from making sure the final product is impeccable, she's involved in most of the important photo shoots of each edition. She has earned a lot of respect among her coworkers because of her creativity and dedication. The fact that she has climbed her way to the top with dignity and commitment also proved to her favor. So much is her involvement that she always ends up doing things that are not among her list of duties.
I wonder which department she was crashing today to end up cheerleading something. That explains the ribbon, I muse internally. Although at this point, being half naked with her in my bed eclipses every other thing in the world. I concentrate on tattooing her image in my head and making it worth her while.
For the next hour and a half or so, no words are spoken. There are only sounds of our lovemaking (if one can call it that) filling the room. Her sighs and moans of pleasure compose a symphony for me. I relish in the power of knowing I'm able to make her feel this way, to see her let go of the control she holds on so tightly.
After a bath together that kept us busy for another while, we share the food she's brought. We're sitting on the living room floor across from one another drinking a cup of red wine. She looks heaven-like wearing one of my t-shirts and a lazily made bun in her head tied up with the pink ribbon she came with.
"You look pretty." I say. With the light of the only lamp that's on, she looks out of a movie scene. One of those where the star is alone at night thinking about her loved one. The glow of an expertly created lightning accentuating the starlet's features.
She smiles at me, and then rolls her eyes. "I'm sure I do, with my hair still wet and wearing your clothes. I'm a cliché fantasy."
It's my turn to roll my eyes. "You couldn't be cliché even if you tried."
"Well, aren't you charming?" She says sarcastically. "Stop trying so hard Edward, I already slept with you."
I wish I could tell her I can't ever stop trying. For all I knew, I could lose her tomorrow. I have to give her reasons for coming back. I have to be everything she's ever wanted and more to keep her with me. I have to do whatever it takes to make her mine forever.
Except I can't and I don't. I suppress my thoughts inside my head while contemplating the glass of wine in my hands. I attempt without success to stop the sadness of my reality from making its way to my heart. I'm aware it's useless. I live with that knowledge everyday now. Its presence is undeniable. It all comes down to the fact; she's not mine to have.
Before I get sucked into the torment of my emotions, soft hands are stroking my hair, my cheek, my jaw. I didn't realized when she crossed the room to sit next to me, but now she's so close it's impossible to ignore her. The heat of her body combined with her scent is reason enough for me to notice her.
"Don't lock yourself inside that little pretty head of yours." She whispers in my ear. Her hands are still taking inventory of my face. It burns in every place she touches. Every area of my skin is aflame; her touch is as much of a cure as it is the disease. Her kisses are poisoned with the sweetest taste of wrong. This is why I can't get away. She's the most powerful drug and I am the most helpless addict.
"I wish it were that easy." I answer her finally after long minutes of soft caresses.
"Maybe I can help." She says breathlessly against my skin and just like that she has me again.
I wake up the next day to an empty apartment only my memories and her aroma surrounding me. The guilt, the insecurity, the pain is all familiar. I have to deal with this every time she leaves. It doesn't get easier. It doesn't get manageable. If anything, each time hurts a little more than the last.
Once I find the strength to get up, I go to the guest room to use the restroom. My own must be filled with the fragrance of her skin and I'm not sure I'm ready to face it yet. My steps feel slow, heavy, and dreadful. It's like my body is aware of the weight of my feelings.
I take a shower in the guest room to start on with my day, even though I am in no mood of doing anything. Then, I go back to my room and change and arrange things around, soaking up the remainder of her essence. Finally, I emerge to my living room, where I'm sure the contents of last night's dinner are still lying on the floor. It comes as a shocking surprise to me, when I see that the floor is impeccably clean. There are no food containers on the table or the floor. There are no clothes lying recklessly around the sofas.
She has never cleaned up after a night spent together. I'm left wondering, once again, how her mind works.
I take another panoramic view at the room, still at odds with the situation. There's just one thing out of order. In the central spot of the gray leather sofa there's the pink ribbon attached to a rectangular little card. As I walk toward the little treat, my heart beats uncontrollably inside of me. I take it in my hands, bringing its sweet and intoxicating perfume into my lungs before reading it. There, written in perfectly beautiful script says:
A piece of me till I get back ;)
Wait for me; I'll be here next weekend.
It feels like ages ago since that happened. My memories of our time together blur in an unrecognizable circle inside my brain and heart. Each one is more bittersweet than the last. It's the most delightful kind of torture.
I'm brought back from my musings, by the annoying sound of an upcoming text message in my cell phone. Without realizing it I get my hopes up thinking it's her. Maybe telling me she was joking, that she is coming. But as I lift the phone from its resting place on the coach, something tells me it's not from her.
With all the disappointment a person could feel, I read the name on the flashing screen, before opening the text.
Dude, last chance…Are you coming to the party or not?
Emmett's message comes in the most inopportune moment. I am not in the mood for pretending. I am in no condition to give him so mundane response about why I'm not going to that party.
I hate this. My heart must be in such a state that doctors would get a field trip out of it. It has been broken so many times, each time more savagely than the other. By the same person no less. How can I recover? How can I be normal ever again? Was I even normal to begin with? What am I doing to myself?
A myriad of questions go through my mind, but not even one answer can get itself in the middle of my mental chaos.
It's a helpless situation. I am in love with her and she's not in love with me. It's simple if you think about it. Cliché if you must. I'm not the first man on this earth who has fallen in love to the wrong person. But how could she be the wrong person? I can't grasp that. Maybe that's where all my troubles begin. I refuse to see her, to see us, as wrong. I'm set that we are perfect together; that I'm as perfect for her as she is for me.
But you're not… My subconscious screams at me.
The cruelty of it all is astonishing.
The trouble lies in my love for her. That's what has gotten me to the point of no return; loving her. Maybe not loving her per se, but loving her as I do. I ache for her. I'm addicted to her presence in my life. The air in my lungs, the beats of my heart, the blood in my veins; they're all for nothing without her. My feelings for her border on insanity, they're unhealthy. And at the same time, they're my lifeline; my reason for existing.
The uncertainty and rage boiling inside me drive me to do things I know I shouldn't. I call her. I don't know how many times she'd asked me not to contact her, even when I've only done it twice. She's so afraid he'll find out about me. At this moment, with my heart threatening to stop beating for good, I don't care about her fear. I don't care how mad she will be once she sees my name flashing on her Blackberry. I just need to hear her voice. I need answers only she can provide.
She answers on the second ring. With the sound of her breathing at the other end of the line, I feel a little more complete than earlier.
"Why are you calling?" Her tone is cold, distant, exasperated.
"Hello to you too Bella." I say sarcastically, well aware that pleasantries has never been a concern for her. Especially when it comes to me.
"Cut the crap. Why are you calling? We've been through this before." Her attitude is as bitter as ever. We are night and day. I still don't get how we've managed to be together the way we've been.
"I got your message. It says you're not coming. Why?" I ask, devoid of any emotion worth displaying.
"Because I'm not. It's very clear. I can't make it." She answers with authority commanding me not to ask further more.
I wish I could comply. However, I can't help it.
"Yes, I understood that. My question is why? Is it work? Is it…him?" I whisper the last word with despise in my voice. Anger, jealousy and fear mixed together burning inside me.
I hear some rustling in the other side of the phone, first it gets so loud then quite. Almost too quite. I'm scared she hung up on me, until I hear her tired voice again.
"Edward…please, don't do this now… I…I have to work. You know how busy I can get. I'll see how fast I can go back to you, okay? I want to see you."
She sounds so weak. She sounds as if she needed me. I wish she would admit it to me, to herself.
"You promised." I mumbled before I can stop myself.
"I know, baby I know…I'll make it up to you…but now I have to go."
"Bella, I…"
"It's okay Edward. I forgive you. I just want you not to do it again…don't call me Edward, I'm serious. I have to go now."
Before I can form a response to that, the line goes dead. I cannot comprehend what just happened.
She forgives me?
She forgives me?
I'm the one who sits around immerse in my own pity waiting for her. I'm the one who has to tolerate the fact that she's too much of a coward to accept the truth of my feelings and the lies of her life. I'm the one who has nothing. And yet, she's sure I'm the one who owes her an apology.
I've never been a violent person. Fury and rage are not useful feelings in my book. Nevertheless, it's all I can feel deep inside my core.
I want to smash every little surface of my apartment. I want to rip my skin from my body to erase her touch. I want to yell, scream, cry…
For the first time though, I want to hurt her. I wish I could make her feel just as desperate and mad as I feel. I wish I could have that much power over her.
As I ponder the impossibility of Bella ever feeling as I do right now because of me, I realize I'm numb. The plethora of emotions going on inside me, have turned into nothing. There's nothing left for me to do but wait for her. I don't know if or when she'll be back.
I just have to be as strong as I can be to deal with every second she's not around.
Grabbing my cell phone from the place on the floor I threw it in my state of disarray, I decide to finally compose a reply to my brother. Apparently while I was beside myself, he sent another text. Some simple words he has no way of knowing how much they would affect me today.
Don't be a coward, live a little man. You're single.
With a new resolve emerging from the broken part of me, I take a deep breath and write.
You're right. I'll be there.
A/N: First of all, I am incredibly sorry for the amount of time it took me to update, I am trying really hard not to let that happen again. I am working in the next one and it's almost done.
If there is anyone still reading, Thank You so Much, drop me a review and let me know what you think.
Until next time.
PS: If you're interested in my semi bipolar rambles, follow me on twitter; LisbethTejada.