A/N: Sorry for the lack of post yesterday; I was on the road for over twelve hours with a three-month-old and a three-year-old, and by the time we pulled into our driveway last night, they were both screaming. Thank the gods for HollettLA's cupcakes; they were the only thing that got MisterChick and me through it. (They also make a damn good breakfast.)
Anyway…apologies. Two chapters today to make up for it. Happy Easter to those who celebrate! xo
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February 27, 2013 – Word Prompts: Pillow, Billow, Willow.
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When I wake the next morning, the gauzy sheers at the window are billowing in the crisp autumn breeze, the top of my comforter chilled despite the warm cocoon beneath it. I stretch my legs, which still ache from standing in uncomfortable shoes, and rub my eyes before glancing at the clock on my nightstand. I told Charlie I wanted to be on the road by ten; I have two hours to shower, get dressed, toss my stuff back in my bag, and hit the road. Plenty of time.
I shift, and the pull of my t-shirt against the small of my back brings with it the memory of Edward's hands at that same place, the warmth of his touch seeping through the thick wool of my dress. At the time, despite my desire for closure, for peace, I had steeled myself against his affecting presence, but now, in the safety of my childhood bedroom, I allow the details to take hold.
He's taller, despite the fact that he was pretty sure that by the time he was eighteen, he was done growing. His shoulders are broader – one of the first things I noticed when I hesitantly placed my hands atop them – but his waist is still narrow. His hair is shorter, though still disorderly, and he was wearing cologne – something I've never smelled on him before. He was so very much the boy I loved but somehow entirely different, and it isn't until now, mulling over the changes beneath my beloved comforter, my cheek pressed into my familiar lavender pillow, that I realize what it is: he's a man. The boy I loved became a man, and I missed it.
And I wonder, as I roll to one side, my toes hitting the wooden boards at the foot of my bed, if there are changes in me that have similarly surprised him.
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The outlines of cardboard boxes are just visible through the darkness, suitcases with all of the clothes I still wear standing by my bedroom door, the heavy, bowed branches of the willow tree brushing whispers against my windowpane. I lie in the bed I've known since childhood, soaking up the familiar feeling of home, of my room, before sunlight comes and ushers me into the next phase of my life. Despite my intentions, my brain replays oft-battled memories of moments in this room: the soft ping of an acorn at the window, the warm feel of a boy's soft mouth against mine. For once, I let myself wallow in them, bidding them farewell as I say goodbye to my childhood, my bedroom, my past.
And, for what I promise myself will be the last time, I say goodbye to Edward Cullen.
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