AN: Forgot a disclaimer in the first chapter. Don't own anything, don't own characters, don't own plot, don't own word choices, and don't own music I quote out of place.

Snapshots in Reverse

I let the keys fall from my hand. They clang into the blue and white ceramic dish that Bella purchased a year ago from a pottery show. The one that she'd eyed with such imagination, the one that she said told a story.

And in that moment I miss her so much.

I tap my fingers twice on the side of the dish just seeing her own hands holding it to her chest in such reverence. I see myself carefully extricating it from her grasp while telling her she doesn't want to drop it. I see her laugh at me and let me take it, even thanking me for being so thoughtful.

I shake my head because getting trapped in memories about Bella when she isn't around is just too painful. I pace into the kitchen, sighing as I do so, and glance at the clock; 5:17pm, a few minutes earlier than usual, traffic hadn't been as bad.

And as my eyes brush through the yellow kitchen I notice what should have been the first thing I see, a sliced apple, green like we like them, sitting in my spot in twelve practically identical cubes. The white plate underneath accents the colour of the fruit in such an intense way that at first I don't want to touch it.

But of course I do.

I take the plate and practically run to the bedroom because I already know what this means. And before I even get into the room I hear it

And what's left to wait for here

First song on the B side; she must have just flipped the record over. I waver now, trailing my fingers down the peeling possibly wood door, biding my time, just waiting for the brass coloured doorknob to come in contact with my skin.

And when it does I hold my breath, turning it as my eyes focus, and bring me closer.

And there's Bella, wearing a breezy cotton dress, a light turquoise colour that brings her to life. She smiles up at me from her cross-legged position on our bed and holds a wood handled brush out to me.

Her hair is still wet from the shower she must have taken and she speaks, "Will you help me?"

And of course I do.

I pass the plate of apple bits over first. Taking off my grey fall coat off second, letting it collapse on the floor, the first clutter on the immaculate floor. It only looks so clean when it's just me. I hate it.

My hand lingers on her when I go to take the brush; she's so warm I have to issue a command to pull back. I tug it to me and crawl in behind her, letting the bed squeeze its protests as I do so.

"I've missed you," she tells me as I spread her damp hair on her back evenly.

"I've missed you more," I tell her truthfully. She turns her head halfway to eye me, letting me get the first real look at her eyes in much too long, she grins up at me before turning back. She knows I'm right.

I start at the bottom of her hair, make sure the ends are properly detangled; not even attempting running the brush straight through her hair. I go slowly because this is the best thing to happen to me since two weeks ago when she was last with me.

Two weeks is nothing in comparison.

"You don't work Saturday, right?" she wonders, whispers. Her head leans back into me because she wants me to stop, she knows I've finished brushing her hair, she knows I was done at least a minute ago.

I encircle her, still holding the brush, and answer, "I don't work Saturday." I take in her scent then, how fascinating she smells when she's moistened.

"Stay in bed all day with me," and it's a demand that she'll let me deny her if I wanted to.

I toss the brush away, practically throwing it into my CD collection. It knocks into the pile of newer, just purchased CDs I have, and the one I plan on Bella hearing tomorrow spills out on top. The gaudy pink cover saying, I knew she'd be back today.

I kiss her temple, resisting her call because right now doesn't feel like the time to take her.

"Don't let them brown," she tells me pushing a piece of apple against my lips. I smile, open my mouth and kiss her finger.

I chew slowly leaning my head just on the side her head, just smelling her, just getting used to not missing her.

"You used yellow juice, they won't brown," I reply. She knows this but I like telling her I know it too. I know her. She yawns then and I release her. "If we're going to be in bed all day, won't you go for a walk with me?"

Bella loves walking. She loves walking with me more. I take care of her; I hold her and never let her trip.

And it's selfish of me to ask her to go for a walk because I know she can't resist. She's tired but I can't let her close her eyes just yet.

She stands up with me and takes my hand, her other still holding the plate with eleven pieces left. She leads me into the kitchen, I grab a plastic zip lock bag, before she asks or does so herself, and she pours the remaining bits into the bag.

The plate clatters into the sink and we're already away from the kitchen.

She slides on her brown faux leather sandals even though it's a little too cold to wear sandals now while I put on white slip on Vans. She picked them out because she hates laces and I wear them because I don't care about footwear.

The door closes behind us; she locks the door with her key that hangs beside a keychain that says her name, age, address, blood type and phone number. I left my own set in the blue and white ceramic bowl.

And we go out together leaving the record player spinning behind.