8. Crying in the Chapel
by Charles Bradley
A week went by and every time Edward didn't stand in his spot when Rosalie arrived at campus, a kind of worry she couldn't place twisted her heart. She didn't see him as she went to class, she did think of him though. Her mantra had now expanded to something longer, something to convince herself of more things. Which meant that now, it was only half right. Because as true as it was that her father had been wrong all those years, Rosalie wasn't being ridiculous. Had she known how often that particular young man - now in a black suit - thought of her, her fragile heart would have swelled until it shattered.
In class, the teacher was talking about… something, Rosalie didn't know what because her eyes were focused on the notepad in front of her. The pen hadn't touched the paper, yet, she saw a pair of pained green eyes staring back at her.
She should have said something to help. However, it had been a week and she still hadn't been able to figure out what. What do you say? Because Edward hadn't said sick, or hurt. He said dying. How could she help him?
She had almost asked her mother as they spoke the previous night, asked what you say - how do you help? That was all she wanted. Somehow, the words eluded her, mostly because there wasn't much to say. She had conveyed more than she knew by simply stopping. Standing there. With him. Even if it was just a breath of time.
The lecture ended and she walked next to Alice, her friend chatting - complaining, today it seemed. Something hadn't gone the way she planned. Something about a level.
All of Rosalie's effort to understand the world her friend was speaking of drained from her as she froze mid-step. They were walking by the cafeteria when her eyes fell on a hunched form, standing with a couple men by a table.
He looked… broken.
And then his eyes lifted, instantly finding hers. Rosalie moved her eyebrows together slightly in a question, one he answered with a defeated shake of his head.
Edward's fingers flexed as he saw her, he wasn't ruled by the same questioning thought process as she was, not when it came to social interactions. Usually, Rosalie obsessed over every past and future moment she had to spend with people. They always made her breath become a bit more shallow.
Not this time.
This time, all it took was beat more of her heart and then she was moving. She couldn't stand to see him look that hurt. She couldn't not do something. At this point, anything.
For once, she didn't consider every step she took, or find judgment in every gaze on her. She didn't even notice the surprised widening of eyes from people who thought they knew her, or the equally surprised eyes of people who actually knew him as the two were pulled together like magnets. Her face was pressed against his neck and his arms holding onto her as if she was the only thing that kept him from falling over. "I'm so, so sorry," she mumbled against his skin, hating that she even noticed how good he smelled, and how warm he was.
Then he said the only thing she would never question, the only words her mind didn't try to dissect to find the hidden meaning. "I missed you."