She Was

A/N: So, something really stupid happened and what I had planned for this chapter is gone. So out with the old and in with the new, right?

Ch. 2: She Was Gone

Bonnibel Princeton's Pov

I awake in a bed. An empty bed. With a sigh I shake off whatever disdain has already settled over my heart this morning and give myself the chance to have a good start to my day.

I open my eyes and I am given a searing bright light in return that causes pricks of pain in my temples. Promptly, I sit up and arch my back into a prolonged yawn while rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. When I open my eyes again, I clearly see that I am very alone in a very still room.

I look to my left and see sunlight pouring through navy blue curtains cascading down the length of a window. I feel my face soften and the room is a peaceful quiet that I would gladly dwell in for hours.

I look to my right and immediately my eyes find a pair of old worn out red converse. My warm smile dissipates into a cold grimace and the room is now eerily quiet. I abruptly find myself drowning in the intensity of emptiness I feel, gasping and struggling for the stale air of the room to fill my needy lungs. The sound of the sheets rustling underneath my grasp does not register into my mind as I stand.

Instantaneously, I smell her scent and the sound of my heart thundering violently within the cage of bones under my skin becomes apparent with its erratic beat coursing through every fiber of my being. Willing my body not to succumb to the wishes of the ground, calling me down to lay upon it, I whimper and defeatedly collapse to my knees on the ground, losing all positive energy harboured within me the moment my bare legs met the ground.

I draw in air through my lungs and moments later, an unnerving groan rises from the depth of my throat to escape my lips finding myself tucking my knees snug into my chest.

Finally, I let myself ruin what could be a good morning, and release whatever hold I had on my rampaging thoughts.

She should be here. Why is she not here? I need her to be here. She should be back by now. I need her to be here with me right now. I need her to be back and here with me right now. I need her to hold me right now. Another whimper and hot tears spring out of my eyes, traveling my cheeks and nose to find a destination in the carpet. Why is she not holding me right now? She needs to be here right now. She needs to hurry up and come back to me now. I want to feel her presence. Yet another, more drawn out whimper escapes my lips and I begin rocking. I want to hold her. I want to see her. I want to hear her voice. I want to feel her skin underneath my fingertips, embracing me, comforting me.

I begin to sob hysterically. I need to feel her lips massaging the worry out of my own. I need to feel her loving me.

I dwell within a brutal cycle of these thoughts, passing through my mind over and over again. Once through... twice... three times... four... Again and again.

Steadily the slow, consistent repetition draws me out of my pitiful bout of panic and anxiety, and the thoughts condense into a simple I need her. I need her. I need her. I need her. I need her now. I need her. My rocking slows to a stop, my sobbing subsidies to a succession of soothing deep breaths, and I feel my tears dry.

With a sniffle I rise from my heap of pathetic sadness on the ground, and viciously wipe away my fatigue. A glance to my wrist to verify that I do, in fact, have a hair tie, and in a few movements that my sore hands have memorized, my hair is fixed into a surely messy bun.

Another sniffle and my arms find themselves protectively crossed over my torso, grasping at the fabric of my shirt that otherwise lays over my ribs. I stand still for a few moments, feeling the cage of bones expand and contract to accommodate my every breath.

I take a quick scan of the room and find a dark red bear with blue button eyes. I walk slowly over to where it is, resting on a bookcase. One step... two... three... four... In a moment of curiosity, I tilt my head and wonder, What drove me to make this? Oh yes, I remember...

It was our mutual 15th "birthday" today. The day that Simon found us on his doorstep, August 5th.

I sit, lazily swaying on our favorite swing set near the old man's house, waiting for her to walk out from around the corner with her backpack upon her and her bass case in hand. A soft breeze rouses my gaze from the ground to the sky and I see what could easily be a painting. Vivid red flirts with striking yellows in the sky. There's pools of pinks crashing into mountains of purple. The beauty is overwhelming and I decide to return my gaze to the ground once more.

With I sigh I close my eyes and l let trepidation encircle me, and I finally begin to worry about where she might be. The minutes roll on with great lethargy.

I notice that the street lights have flicked on and the sun is hidden by the swelling curvature of the Earth, moving on to give sunrise to another part of the world. The once calm wind sweeps across me with a bite, and my hands leave the cold chains of the swing and grasp at my jacket zipper, sealing my warmth to my body.

More minutes pass and I start to see the stars, peeking out of their silky curtain of black sky to illuminate the land below.

Suddenly my trance is broken by a whistling and I snap my head in the direction I think it to be coming from. Instantaneously a smile is plastered on my face when I see a tall, slender figure carrying a bass case in hand and a backpack upon them. They have absurdly long, disastrously messy, obsidian black hair, and bear the same outfit of a red and black flannel shirt, grey skinny jeans, and beaten up red converse, that she did when we left the house this morning.

I get up from my resting spot on the swing and walk over to her, "Marceline!" I scoff, "Where have you been?" I am now right in front of her and she stares at me quietly.

She gently sets down her bass case, and slips off her backpack, reminding me of my own, still resting on my back, with only a few items within it.

She takes a step closer to me, and then another small step to wrap her arms around my waist. My ear meets the space between her chest and her neck and I feel her set her chin on top of my head. My arms slowly move and wrap themselves up and around her neck, pulling her just a little closer to me, allowing me to kiss her cheek.

"I was really worried about you." I whisper.

"I know." She replies, and I feel her chest vibrating, "I'm sorry."

"No you're not." I utter, "Because you'll do it again and again, and I'll still worry about you every time."

She sighs and tightens her grip on me, forcing me to shuffle a little closer, "I have to provide for you guys somehow."

"I wish you didn't." I quip.

"I know." She softly replies, "I know."

We hold each other for a long while until she pats my back, the gesture telling me we should head home now.

I stare blankly at my feet for the majority of our walk home. For the remainder of the walk I had stared down at Marceline's bright, crisp, and clean red Converse. Her feet are a lot bigger than mine. I thought. It's a fact that I won't ever need to acknowledge in my day to day life, living as her "sister", but I find myself committing her shoe size to my memory.

I would mull it over in my head later that night, I decided. Why do I really want to remember everything about her, it's not like she's going to, god forbid, die too soon or get adopted without me.

Right?