4. Crawling Back To You
by Daughtry
Rosalie flipped the page of the book she was reading as she stared into the air. She wasn't sure what it was about, even though she had been sitting on the bench in the park since six am and it was almost noon. Music pounded in her ears, it kept her grounded. Unsure of what was happening, she tried not to ponder the matter.
It wasn't going very well.
Edward.
She had learned that the previous day. Over the past two weeks, they had been exchanging a conversation which normally would be fitted into fifteen minutes. He was a music major, preferred the food in the cafeteria of the art building. Rosalie closed the book on a finger, not that it would help much when she went back to reading. He appeared to be smart. With a dry sense of humor. He had a nice smile… although, that was more of an observation.
Fuck that. Rosalie rolled her eyes at herself. He was beautiful. For the past couple of days, she had been sketching him over and over again. His eyes, the shape of his mouth, his nose, his fingers around the guitar he carried in a case on his back. This was the reason Rosalie had brought a book as she woke up at the crack of dawn. She felt ridiculous… and a bit creepy.
The thing was, this never happened to her. Men. She barely left the apartment if it wasn't for classes or sitting on the bench under the old tree in the park. Her favorite spot. It was a bit hidden away with a view of the pond, perfect serenity.
Pulling her legs up further against her chest, Rosalie leaned her head against the trunk of the tree and let her eyes roam her surroundings. The leaves above protected her from the light drizzle and created a fog which rolled steadily over the ground. She sighed and closed her eyes. Instantly seeing deep green eyes. The man was addictive. And technically, they didn't know each other. Nevertheless, it did occur to her that he probably knew her better than most people. Except for her mother and Alice, he was probably the person who knew her the best.
He was a vegetarian.
Rosalie smiled - she would never have guessed. He was tall, dark and brooding. Tattoos snaking over his arms and never dressing in anything but black - docs, tees and jeans. And vegetarian. Because it "suited" him better.
He wanted to start a band with his best friends but none of them could carry a vocal tone. They had piano, drums and his guitar, however, sing they could not.
She hadn't told Alice about him, Rosalie's mind treated him as something mythical. As if speaking of him aloud would cause him to evaporate. Her eyes almost teared up.
"What's wrong with me?"
In the back of her mind echoed years of words which all still carved her insides out of her body. Her fingers dropped the book and curled into her hair, seemingly drying to dig into her skull and rip the pain out.
Silently, she mouthed her mantra over and over again, he was wrong. She wanted to be happy. Just for one day. Rosalie picked up the fallen book from the damp grass and dried off the moist with her sleeve. When walking home, she didn't see a thing, her feet carried her down the familiar path on autopilot. Thirty minutes later, she walked through her front door and straight to the easel that stood in front of the mirror.
For the next few hours, she let her brush stroke the canvas where her pain, memories and a pair of intense green eyes formed under her hand. When she came up for air, the sky outside was dark and she once again reminded herself that he was wrong.