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Hold Me Down

By: Peri

Chapter Nine (PRESENT)

My apartment is dark. I like it this way. I can't see what's missing from it. Who'smissing. Even if I can still feel it.

It's been a while since this was his home. Since his favorite sneakers made me trip every time I would come or go. Since he would leave almost every light in the place on, occupied or not. Since he helped me make our bed. Since he slept in it with me.

I've never been more homesick. And this place has never felt more empty.

I curl up on the couch, bringing my legs up and hugging them to my chest as tightly as I can. I let my head rest on my knees—lightly at first—until I find myself pressing my right temple into my kneecaps so hard that I start to see flashes of white. My head is still spinning and my heart feels like it's barely beating.

I miss him so much and want him back so badly I have the urge to scream; it boils there, in my throat, burning madly as I keep it inside.

I want to break things, and it hits me that there is so little of this thingleft to break, and I just know that we've come to the end. Or at least horrifyingly close to it. I don't know how long I sit and let that soak in, but I'm completely numb by the time I move. Taking a short shower does nothing to thaw me. I leave puddles with every step I take, my hair dripping wet, but I don't care to clean it. I don't care about anything.

The bed is so cold and lonely. I don't want to be in it. I grab my cell phone and a pillow and take it with me to the couch where I wrap myself with the throw even though I don't feel the cold; I don't feel anything. All I want is to feel something close to comfort.

My hand shakes as I stare at his name and number on my phone, my thumb hovering over the 'call' button. I want nothing more than to hear his voice. Every part of me is dying to be near him in any way possible.

I hit the button. The call goes straight to voicemail.

"Hi...um, hey..." My voice sounds stupid and scared. It's exactly what I am. "It's me, but you know that."

I just start talking and talking, I don't even know if I have a point, but I go on about the night, rambling as I tell him what I had hoped would happen. That I wanted to be happy for him. That I tried, even if it wasn't as hard as I could have. I know I'm wasting precious moments to say something meaningful. Something that might move him.

Words fail me.

I snap my jaw shut and my hand squeezes around my phone in a tight grip as I try to focus. My mind is blank. Useless. So I shut it off and let my soul do the talking.

My voice breaks as I tell him what I should have started with.

"I really do love you, Edward. Even if I can't ever seem to show it the way that it's meant to be—or supposed to be—shown. I love you. I love you. I..."

I end the call.

The phone feels like a million pounds and it slips out of my hands as I lay back. I tighten the throw around my shoulders and curl into myself.

I don't remember drifting to sleep, but when I wake, it's to the sound of angry pounding on my door.

It's him. I know it. I scramble out of the blanket and off of the couch. My body is buzzing as I make my way as quickly as possible to get to him.

He stands with his head hanging low and his arms stretched out; his weight is heavy on his hands as they grip the doorframe. He slowly lifts his head. I can see in his eyes everything that he had held back at the bar. Fury. Passion. Rage. Lust.

My heart drops as I search fruitlessly for the one thing that matters above all else: his love.

I don't see it. And I want to fucking raid him to find it.

He takes a step forward and like a magnet, I'm pulled to him. He grabs for my waist, and I lock my arms around his neck and lift myself, wrapping my legs around him.

The door slams shut behind us and he nearly slams me against the wall of the narrow hallway. The force of the blow makes me gasp; it hurts and feels good, at the same time. He doesn't flinch at my pain, instead he presses me harder into the wall, burying his face into the crook of my neck as he drops me down to my feet.

I try to find his lips, I want them so badly, but he shuts down every attempt I make.

I know what he's doing. I can feel it in every move he makes. In the rough pull of his lips against my neck, in the way his teeth dig into the curve of my collarbone. How deep and hard his fingers push into my skin. The way they burn as they drag down my waist.

He wants to prove me wrong, prove that he isthe fucking type.

I don't want him this way, but I'll take him in any capacity that he wants me. So I meet every move he makes with everything I've got. And I've got so much for him.

I grasp at his shirt and pull it off of him. My hands slide down from his shoulders to his stomach. His breath his hot against my skin, and my arms bind around his rib cage. I press little kisses wherever I can reach. I lift to my toes and sweep my lips across his shoulder blade, along his collarbone and down his chest. I stop at his heart, and press kiss after kiss over it. I need him closer. I hold him tight, so tight I'm sure I'm hurting him. He's too far away, even with our bodies flush against each other, it's too far.

And it's not until he reaches behind himself and grips my wrists tightly, yanking them off of him and firmly pressing them into the wall, that I realize that he had stopped moving.

His shoulders heave and he presses my hands harder into the wall, like he wished he could lock them there, before pushing off and stepping away from me.

His eyes squeeze shut and his jaw tightens as his fingers rake through his hair. He tugs at the tips of it in frustration and defeat. When I take two steps towards him, he takes several back. He buries his face in his hands and he sinks against the opposite wall.

I move to him again and reach up, taking his hands in mine, pulling them down. I want to see his face, look him in the eye. And when I do, I see hints of the boy who loved me, and pieces of the man who loves me still. He's there.

I lift to my toes and my fingers lace through his hair. He lets out the faintest of sighs as our lips barely brush against each other. We do it again and again, until we need more. Until we're dying for more.

We make our way to my bed with our lips locked and our tongues tangled. We undress each other slowly and quietly. As we lay down, me beneath him, the soft, sweet kisses he leaves on my lips and trailing down my chest feel so close to forgiveness that I'm instantly on the verge of tears.

He pauses as he hovers above me, pressing himself where I need him. He falters briefly, and I'm terrified that he's going to leave me, but he kisses me once more before sliding inside.

It's been so long since we've been together this way, but he finds a rhythm effortlessly and it's hypnotizing. My hips fall into a trance and they dance back and forth. The air around us is filled with moans and whimpers. And for a moment, we don't have a past. As the pleasure surges through us, we don't have broken hearts. Our eyes squeeze shut and we hold each other tightly, just trying to hold on to this moment where there is no pain… no disappointment.

It's all we've got.

Our breathing is ragged. I lay beneath him, his face buried in my neck. We haven't said a word to each other. He lifts his head and stares down at me. I want to say something, anything, but he beats me to it.

"I…" He's out of breath and his voice is husky; it makes me ache for him again. "I just… I wanted…" He struggles to say what he means.

"I know," I say quickly. I needed him, too.

He rolls off of me and the thought of not touching him makes me just short of crazy. As he lies on his back I pull myself closer to him. Finding a nook under his arm, I nuzzle into his side.

"I'm glad you came," I say, suddenly shy.

I don't look up at him, but I can tell he's looking down at me by the way his body shifts.

He's quiet, but I don't care. I'm just so glad he's with me now. I don't go so far as to hope for too much, because I know better than anyone that sex isn't a promise.

I will myself to sleep. The morning will make the truth hurt less.

My eyes crack, forced open by the pounding sun. Lifting myself onto my elbows, I peer around. I'm alone. I sit up and lean my back against the headboard.

Where is he?

I run a hand through my tangled hair and search for clothes. I spot Edward's shirt and, without hesitation, snatch it up and wear it. It feels so good as it covers me.

The sun is harsh so I squint as I look out toward my balcony. He's there outside, his back facing me. I see the smoke from his cigarette drift in a fog around his head, before disappearing with the wind.

Sliding the glass door open, I hope that he will turn to look at me.

He doesn't.

His hands grip the edge of the railing. I'm scared but I walk to him, because I can't help but do so. My arms reach for his back, and I feel his skin, cool against my palms. I slide my hands over his sides and link my fingers together around his stomach, resting my left cheek against his back where I can hear that heart of his beating.

He shivers.

After a moment I pull away and peek my eyes up. His head hangs down.

"I guess I am that guy," he whispers. He takes a long drag from his smoke and then drops it to the ground.

I don't know what to say. I never do. He still hasn't looked at me.

"How long this time?" he asks.

He's asking me how long before I hurt him. How long before I fuck it all up.

He shakes his head at my silence.

I want to tell him that I can be different, I mean reallythis time. I won't hurt him again. That I now realize he is it for me, and I'll do whatever it takes to keep us together.

But I don't say anything.

I don't want to lie.