SOMEDAY WE'LL FALL
Prompt: Song to Story Contest: "People Watching" by Conan Gray
Date: January 2022
My eyes are fixed on the couple a table over from me. I know I shouldn't stare at them, but I can't help it. They are dynamic in their interactions. He's said something mildly stupid, and now she's laughing so hard she's on the verge of tears.
He looks equal parts annoyed and utterly enamored with her. Like he's used to the way she laughs at him. Like he loves it.
She looks at me and when she giggles, her eyes light up. The sound of her laughter is infectious, the tilt of her lips impossible to stay mad at. She's always laughing at me, but fuck do I love her enough not to care.
Sometimes, I even say stupid shit out loud, knowing it will get this response for her.
I'd do anything to hear that laugh.
I leave the café, the couple still on my mind. I can't shake their interactions, the intimacy, and the comfort in which they operated around one another.
Like they'd been together for so long they didn't even have to think about how to be with each other. Like it had become effortless.
She flops onto the sofa, one of her legs landing on my lap as she sprawls out over me. The comfort between us is so strong, that I don't even think about her invading my space like this. I want her there, in my space.
She glances up at me from where she's lounging on the pillows, and her smile takes my breath away. I didn't know you could be so comfortable with someone. Not until her.
I head home, melancholy in my loneliness. I know it's something I choose; I'm an absolute shit show when it comes to dating, and I drive women away almost immediately. It's too hard to overcome all my shit and just be real with them.
Sometimes I blame it on the women I've dated. They weren't special enough for me to let in.
But mostly, I blame myself. I cut them out as soon as I can, and I never stop to ask why.
She's staring at me across the sofa, her dark eyes warm and concerned. "Hey," she whispers, shifting positions. She crawls toward me, landing on my lap, and immediately my hands go around her waist. "What's going on?"
"It's nothing," I lie to her because sometimes it's easier than opening up.
"Don't do that," she whispers, her hands reaching up to cup my face. "Don't shut me out."
I'm scared.
I'm scared of letting her in. I already love her too much. What if this doesn't last? What if she decides to leave? What if…
I'm plagued by the unknown, the uncertain.
Her hands move down to rest against my throat and the back of my neck, gently cradling my head.
"Hey," she whispers, her lips barely moving as she gets closer and closer to me. "I love you. Please let me in."
I go to my parent's house when my mom asks, knowing she worries about me. I don't like to go home very often. It's not because I don't love my family. It's just sometimes hard to be near them.
My brother Emmett and his wife Rose live with my parents while they save up for their own house, and when I'm there, I can't escape the love and intimacy of the couples who live there. My parents are steady, and somehow still as in love as they were when they first met, despite being married for over thirty years. My brother has it just as bad, though he and Rose have only been married three years.
Sometimes it's hard to be near them.
"Where did you get that ring?" I ask, glancing over at her hand. She looks down at the slim gold band.
"I don't know. It was in my jewelry box. Must have been something from my teen years."
It's on her right hand, but the sight of it sends a feeling running through me. It's a feeling I don't know how to name.
Fear, excitement, nervousness, yearning, anxiety, hope… it's all there, sitting on that slim gold band.
What would it take to move that ring to the other hand?
What would it take for me to be able to call her mine forever?
"Edward, sweetheart," mom says, coming over to hug me. "It's been so long since we've seen you. How are you?"
I pull away from her, shrugging lightly. "Fine," I tell her. It's technically true, though it doesn't convey the listlessness in me.
Mom eyes me as I move past her. In the living room, my father and brother are sitting watching TV. I plop onto the sofa next to them. Dad shoots me a hello, but I only get a head nod from Emmett.
For a very small moment, everything is fine.
Then Rose comes in, handing Emmett a beer and plopping herself on his lap.
Their affection for each other is hard for me to witness, and I get up to get my own drink.
"Since when are you into PDA?"
She's looking at me skeptically as I wrap my arms around her tighter. I look around my parent's living room—hardly a public place—and look back at her.
"Since I realized how madly in love with you I am."
Her smile sets everything in my world right, and when she leans down to kiss me, I absolutely don't care where we are or who can see us. This isn't about anyone but us.
Dinner with my family drags on. They are either oblivious to how uncomfortable I am, or they don't care. I'm happy for all of them, truly, but it's hard to watch.
The yearning in me is growing deeper, and I don't know how to soothe it.
"I need you," she pants, her fingers fumbling for my belt. "Please I need you now."
I've never felt a need like this as I rip at my own clothes. "Fuck, yes," I rasp, my desperation matching hers. When we are finally free of our restrictions, she sinks over me, hissing as we are joined.
"Fuck," she cries into my shoulder. "Now… harder… please."
"Hold on, Baby," I grunt. Her fingers find purchase on my shoulders as I lift her up and slide back into her. Each time she surrounds me, it feels like coming home, and the ache in my soul is soothed, just a bit.
"I love you, Edward," she cries into my skin. I grip her tight, slamming into her.
"I love you, Bella."
I leave my parent's house, feeling restless and unfulfilled. I'm too amped up to go home, so instead, I head toward the nearest bar. I'm not one to drink my problems away, but I don't want to be alone right now.
Inside, the bar is pretty quiet. It's a Tuesday night, and not many people are here except for some obvious frequent patrons.
I slide up the bar and settle down, letting out a long breath.
"What can I get you?"
I look up at the bartender, and I choke on the breath I'm trying to get back into me. She's beautiful, with long brown hair, big dark eyes, and pink lips that are perfectly pouty. She's wearing an unbuttoned flannel shirt tied at her waist, with a black tank top underneath.
I feel her sizing me up, and when her eyes meet mine, her smile is enough to knock me on my ass.
"What's your name?" she asks, grabbing a glass and pouring me a drink I haven't ordered. I accept it.
"Edward," I croak. She grins, her fingers lingering on mine as she hands over the glass.
"Well, Edward. This is a good luck shot," she says, tapping her own glass as she pours. "Drink up for luck."
I don't question it. I grab the glass and hold it in front of me as she does the same. Our gazes meet and she grins before counting to three. We both knock the shot back and when she sets her glass down on the counter, she licks her full lips.
"What's your name?" I ask her, my stomach full of butterflies and the weightlessness of alcohol.
Her smile holds so much promise. "Bella. My name is Bella."
