A/N:
Thanks again to What The Fun and everyone who reviewed!
"I suppose he had some private sort of greatness, but he kept it to himself."
- Jedediah
May 8, 2010
Bella
I think I've been asleep forever.
At least that's what it feels like when I stop sleeping - like I shouldn't be waking up because my body isn't ready.
But it's too late, and curiosity has me opening my eyes, bravely greeting the day.
Until I slam my eyelids shut, that is.
"How's your head?" asks the kind, soft voice next to me.
"It hurts," I whisper pathetically, as if trying to keep the cause a secret. Or maybe it's because my head seems to be amplifying every word that enters my ears.
"Here." He props me up a little with the pillows, placing a few pills in one hand. A glass of something in the other.
"Thanks," I reply, swallowing both without looking.
Edward takes the empty cup from my hand, setting it down with a clink. I scoot back down so my head is once again supported by soft feathers, appreciating the silence.
The lack of interruptions offers an opportunity to sort through the partial memories swirling inside my head, but I still find most contexts to be just out of reach.
Taunting me with their flighty existence, the broken-up images make a sport out of placing them in the right order. I gasp when they finally start to form a fairly complete picture, causing my eyes to pop open in shock.
Unfortunately, the sunlight sneaking past the thin curtains is still way too bright.
Not wanting to be completely blind, I pull the comforter over my head, proceeding to hide under it.
"Get in here, please," I mumble against the fabric.
Edward chuckles but obeys, sliding under the blanket. Leaving an uncovered spot near the top of our heads.
He rests his head on his arm as we lie on our sides, staring at each other as light filters through the white.
"Did I really jump in a fountain last night?" I ask, looking into Edward's eyes with near-desperation.
I don't know how, but he manages to keep a straight expression.
"Mmhmm. A very pretty one, too."
I wince, even more disturbed now that my suspicions have been confirmed.
"Why didn't you stop me?" I ask, exasperated at the both of us.
"You ran ahead, splashing me when I tried to get you out," he defends. "But hey, at least you had your clothes on."
A grin tugs at his lips.
Okay, now he's just having too much fun with this.
"Ugh. That's so embarrassing," I complain, rubbing my forehead. "I was hoping it was a dream."
Edward touches my flaming cheek gently before placing his entire hand there, cradling it.
"What did you dream about? You were talking a lot."
"You," I answer honestly, without shame. There is no point in hiding it.
His smile grows wider.
"What about you?" I ask, suddenly curious.
It would surely be less painful if I stop talking, but whenever I look at Edward, I feel like I haven't memorized enough of him yet.
His happy expression fades slightly as he shrugs, seeming unable to answer.
"I don't know. I don't usually remember my dreams, unless I wake up from a nightmare or something."
"That's too bad," I sympathize.
"I suppose. I've never really missed them before." He pauses, moving his fingers higher up, above my eyebrow. "Though now, I really wish I could remember my dreams about you. I know I have them. I just can't..." He trails off, not needing to finish.
"I'm not in the nightmares, I hope?"
He smiles again, shaking his head. "No, never nightmares."
July 18, 2010
Bella
I blink rapidly as I try to separate past from present, imagination from reality.
The total lack of light tells me I'm no longer in the sandcastle room.
Edward doesn't seem to be next to me, either. But even through the fog, my brain recognizes that - sadly - this is not much of a surprise.
I clearly have something worse than a hangover. My head hurts so much more than it did before. I want to soothe it with my hand, but I can't.
Nothing seems right, but I'm unable to feel as concerned as I should be.
I burrow deeper into the softness I'm lying on, simply wanting to return to my dream.
Drifting easily to a place where everything is not so confusing...to a place where Edward is still mine.
July 18, 2010
Edward
The house is quiet when I shut the front door behind me, trying not to slam it.
I quickly take my shoes off, as if that will somehow prevent Isabella from kicking me out again. I can't let her this time, not without listening to me first.
Maybe I should have come home in the middle of the night like I was tempted to, but I didn't want her to panic after hearing someone in the guest room. So I stayed at the hotel, even though I must have slept for less than an hour.
I wonder if Isabella is still sleeping, but I'm unsure of how to find out. I can't very well walk into the room and check to see if she's still in bed.
That realization hits me hard.
What used to be protocol would now be considered creepy - crossing an imaginary "line."
We didn't used to have any lines.
I check the kitchen in case she is getting something to eat, but the only evidence of Isabella is the fully charged phone that's plugged into the wall. I don't let myself feel too disappointed, seeing as it's only 7 a.m. She never gets up this early.
Going along with my decision to stay downstairs, I head straight for the living room. That's where a guest would wait, and unfortunately, that's what I most resemble. I can only hope this changes soon.
Preparing to stay here for a while, I sit down on the couch, trying to get comfortable. I run my hands over my pant legs, nervous and eager to make my declaration.
I have one shot at this. That's it.
One chance to fix my mistake, to take back my preemptive surrender.
I can make her happy. I know I can. We were happy.
We're broken now - and maybe we were before - but even the shards and dysfunctions are more appealing than a life without her.
We just have to set aside our hurt and pride and fix this. Us. Not let the other leave until we've told each other everything - all the truths we've been guarding and coddling.
Our words will be desperate and teary and awful, but I'll do it gladly because it's the only chance we have left.
I have to show that I'm all in, willing to do anything. Even willing to get therapy if that might help.
I fucking hate therapy. But for her, I'll do it.
I just hope she feels the same way.
I grab my hair, twisting it painfully.
Do prayers count if you're unsure of their destination?
At this point, I'm willing to try anything.
My head throbs with too many thoughts as my leg bounces up and down.
Isabella's face flashes through my mind again, increasing my limitless regret. She looked so defeated last night. Not just defeated, but betrayed. And angry. She's never yelled at me like that before.
I play with my empty hands, wondering if they should be empty.
Maybe I should have brought flowers. Or maybe I've bought her too many flowers. Too many things that were pretty on the surface, yet held no real substance.
They die so quickly.
Just as I'm about to start pacing, I remember that I didn't see Isabella's car in the driveway. I assumed she put it in the garage, but is she even home?
Disheartened by the thought, I get up to investigate. I know this strong sense of urgency will continue to unnerve me if I'm unable to talk to her right away.
Unfortunately, the garage is just as empty as the downstairs. And with a superfluous inspection, I discover that the same is true for the second floor.
I walk back downstairs slowly, feeling more tired after my short burst of adrenaline has run out.
I can't think of anywhere she would need to be right now, unless she took a quick trip to the drugstore.
Regardless, I make my way onto the porch, deciding to wait there. I don't want her to retreat to her room without speaking to me.
It can't be too long of a delay. She'll have to come back soon; her phone is here. And when she does, I'll beg and apologize until she hears me.
I go over what I need to say in my mind, practicing so I don't screw this up. If I can convince her to give us another shot, we'll be able to put this all behind us. It will be just like it used to be - natural and wonderful.
I sit down on the steps, staring out at the misty fog. My eyes focus on the driveway, waiting for her car to pull in.
This is going to work. It has to.
I let my head rest against a porch beam, my lack of sleep catching up to me. My hands find my pockets, trying to hide from the morning air.
Yes, I soothe as I take in my weather-blurred surroundings, not allowing my confidence to dwindle.
When she gets home, we're going to fix everything.