hey guys, im so sorry for the delay in getting this chapter up, i know its off my regular scheduling with the timing as well as the days but as im sure most of you are aware by now fanfic was being a pain in the ass again and wouldnt let me upload or update any of my fics :(...its only just now letting me back in again...i hope youre all not too mad at me, and i really hope you enjoy this chapter, the next one should hopefully be up tomorrow night, but no promises with the way the sites been acting up :/
anyways, thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far, especially kittysquyres once again, for both reviewing the last chapter and putting up with my insane ramblings lol
so to everyone reading this next chapter; i hope you like it (you probably wont love it since its not all that happy :P )and will review with any thoughts you have on it :D
xoxox
Becca
The plane ride home was exhausting and for once in my life I was glad to spend time with Matt since it meant I wouldn't have to sit beside my parents for the next fourteen hours trying to hold back my tears. Instead we were much further back the plane, several rows behind our parents and far enough away that they could neither see nor hear us. For once in his life Matt actually decided to be nice to me, or as nice as one as evil as him can be: he stayed silent for most of the flight, sleeping occasionally but mostly just ignoring me and watching the in flight movies. It was the best I could hope for from him, thankfully though he also ignored me when I started to cry again and although I could tell he wanted to- stopped himself from making wisecracks about me just missing all the clothes. I caught him sending side-glances at me every so often, checking if I was alright or trying to think of a prank I'm not sure but either way I smiled tearfully at him and ruffled his already messy hair halfway through the flight - I'm not sure if it was more to reassure him or myself but it seemed to work since he yelped angrily and furiously flattened his hair, glared at me and went back to watching his movie.
The rest of the time was pure torture, I felt as though I had a huge rubber band in my stomach, tightening painfully with every mile that took me further and further away from Rome. It was as though I was being pulled apart forcefully from the inside, my body being carried swiftly across the ocean but the rest of me desperately trying to stay in Italy. I had to fight the urge to leap up and start screaming several times and it was almost a physical effort to remain in my seat when all wanted to do was throw myself out the nearest exit and land back in 'Bella's bed. It was almost inconceivable how much things had changed since only this morning. I refused to regret my decision though, despite what my heart was screaming at me I knew it wouldn't have worked out if I had stayed, I needed time to grow up, adjust to all the changes In my life and I couldn't do that when I was at the centre of everything. I had to take a step back for a little while, let everything calm down and let my head stop spinning. Maybe then I could figure everything out. I just wished it wasn't so painful doing so. Wished I didn't keep picturing Isabella's face every time I blinked and wished I didn't feel like I was physically tearing off my limbs the further I got from her.
By the time the plane landed the next day I could barely speak, my voice was hoarse from choking back tears and my eyes were red and puffy from both lack of sleep and the number of times I had furiously rubbed them to stop Matt from seeing me cry. I had drifted into a restless sleep about two hours before we were due to land and I dreamed of Isabella the whole time, picturing us standing together on her balcony holding hands and smiling and her suddenly being ripped away from me. I woke up just as the captain announced our descent with tears pouring down my face. I was convinced I must have been talking-or crying- in my sleep because Matt was watching me warily, shooting me curious glances every few seconds. I ignored him, too focused on stopping my tears before mom and dad noticed when we landed to worry too much about what he might have heard. I simply couldn't find it in me to care at the moment; I didn't understand how I could feel this badly when I had only known Bella for a few weeks. I didn't make any sense to me yet I still couldn't help but feel I had left something irreplaceably precious behind; something with the deepest drown eyes I've ever seen and delicious dark hair to match, something with a face almost freakishly similar to my own but still so different and something with a temper so fiery it could most likely rival that of a hell god. Something called Isabella Parichi. And I had the most horrible feeling that I was never going to see her again. It was enough to make me want to hyperventilate, the notion of never being near her again so foreign it could almost be laughable- If it wasn't so terrifying.
When I had decided to come home I had never even considered that I may never see Isabella or Rome again, it was such an impossible idea that it never even crossed my mind. But now, having just crossed an ocean and landing back in reality it didn't seem so implausible. And that thought scared me to the bone. I took and deep breath and forced myself to breathe slowly; in and out and in and out, focusing determinedly on the air entering and leaving my lungs and not the thoughts chasing each other in circles around my head. I had to try and think logically for once, allowing myself to panic wouldn't do me any good it would only make things worse. The last time I had panicked I had ended up on CNN. Now was not the time for another episode like that, especially with Matt sitting beside me with a video recorder in his hands. Slowing down my breathing I tried to put things in order sensibly. Channel Gordo, he always thought rationally, making a list of facts and used them to work everything out. Right, so channelling Gordo...now.
I need to see Bella again. Fact. I don't know how in the world I'm going to do that, it's not like Rome is just around the corner, it's across the world. I have her number. Fact. That makes me feel a little better; at least we'll be able to talk sometimes...if I have the guts to pick up the phone. The phone bill will be way too high to afford on a regular basis. My mood slumps right back down, there's no way my parents will be willing to let me call Italy once a day. I gave Isabella my email address. Fact. Good, so as long as I'm able to make at least one call and tell her to send emails we can still sort of keep in contact. It isn't much, but it makes me feel a little better and I manage a semi-real smile for my mom as we step off the plane. I'll have to remember to thank Gordo sometime and not moan as much about his careful was of thinking from now on.
We got home a couple of hours later and with barely a word simply dumped all our bags inside the front door and trudged tiredly up the stairs and into our beds. It was almost twenty hours since Isabella had left me at the hotel and yet it felt like a lifetime ago already. The night we had shared just over a day ago seemed so far removed from this reality I was beginning to wonder if it was a dream, if I had dreamed the entire last month; it all seemed so impossible now that I was back home in my cluttered bedroom, my clothes scattered everywhere and posters littering the walls. It felt like someone else's room. I felt like an intruder in my own house.
I sighed quietly into my pillow as I lay down and stared at the ceiling; the glow in the dark stars I had put up last year shone palely back at me, silently reminding me of the amazing stars back in Rome. I turned my head to the side and looked out my small bedroom window; all I could see were fluorescent orange street lamps. The sky was dark and blurry, even the moon seemed smaller and paler to me. I sighed again and turned over in my bed, burying my face in the pillow- half expecting Isabella's familiar scent to surround me and being bitterly disappointed when only the scent of the freshly laundered sheets rose up to greet me.
