Happy Monday, everyone!
I've been mulling around this chapter for a while, and it's now at a place I'm happy with.
Wishing you guys all the best~
The soft glow from the overhead light bathed everything in golden hues, casting lazy shadows across the linoleum floor as the rain slid down the window in uneven trails. The air inside was heavy with the comforting aroma of garlic and herbs.
From the lounge, Charlie and Sue's voices wove together in gentle conversation, blending with the low hum of the TV. Charlie's occasional chuckle, deep and gravelly, rose above Sue's soft laughter, like the crackle of a fire on a quiet night. Each sound curled around me, wrapping me in a sense of home I hadn't realized I'd been missing.
Seth spun the dish towel over his head like a lasso, his face lit with playful mischief as I finished wiping down the counter. "I'm pretty sure I could make this into an Olympic sport," he declared, tossing a spoon into the drawer with a flick of his wrist.
I smirked, glancing at him from the corner of my eye. "What, towel-flinging or pretending to help?"
"Both," he replied with a grin. "Gold medal in multitasking, for sure."
I shook my head, placing the last dish in the drying rack. The soft clink of porcelain punctuated our banter. "You've got some high aspirations."
He smiled, leaning against the counter. His eyes drifted towards the floor and his eyebrows knitted together. "You think Charlie's gonna notice we didn't mop the floor?"
I raised an eyebrow. "You were supposed to mop?"
He chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Eh, I figured clean dishes were more important."
"Nice try." I nudged him lightly with my elbow, hanging the dish towel back on its hook. "I won't tell him if you won't."
"Deal." He gave me a small grin
Seth spun the dish towel one last time, then tossed it onto the counter, letting out a tired sigh. "Alright, I think we're done here," he said, his grin softening. He leaned against the counter, stretching his arms overhead. "I'm gonna head to bed soon."
I wiped down the last section of the counter and nodded. "Yeah, I'm about ready to call it a night too."
Seth glanced toward the hallway, "Do you need the bathroom first?"
I smiled at the small gesture, appreciating the thoughtfulness behind it. "Go ahead. I'll be fine."
"Okay," he said, flashing me a quick grin before pushing off the counter. "I won't take too long."
He wandered toward the hallway, his footsteps growing softer as he disappeared into the bathroom. The sound of running water soon followed, and I listened for a moment before turning back to finish tidying up. The house had fallen into its usual nighttime rhythm, the quiet hum of the fridge and the steady patter of rain filling the spaces left by our conversation.
I wiped my hands on a towel, my eyes drifting further away from the hallway and closer to the corner of the room.
My fingers rested on the cool edge of the counter. The house was still, the comforting warmth of earlier replaced by something heavier. The silence pressed in on my skin. I stood there for a moment, staring at the bin, feeling the tension inside me rise and fall like waves against the shore.
The soft light from the hallway spilled across the floor, barely touching the edges of the lid. I could feel the presence of the photos, buried beneath the scraps of food and soiled napkins. The room felt smaller now. Warmer. But in a way that pressed too close to my skin—like the air itself was tightening.
I crossed the room slowly, my bare feet whispering against the linoleum. The bin creaked as I lifted the lid, giving passage to the smell of damp food that rose to my face. My fingers slipped inside, grazing the crumpled napkins and paper scraps until they brushed against the jagged surface of the photos. They felt soft, fragile beneath my touch. I pulled them free, quietly closing the lid—careful not to make a sound.
The photos were slightly damp, their glossy surfaces slick in my hands, reflecting the dim kitchen light like a sheen of water over ice. I unfolded them, breaking apart their crumpled embrace. The balled mass eventually separated into two wrinkled sheets, their pale backs facing me. I turned them both over.
I held both photos side by side, the glossy squares of ink framed by white borders that felt almost too clean, too sterile for the weight they carried. In one, Edward's eyes were glacial—cold and distant; sharp glistening fragments of topaz. His gaze seemed to cut through the thin barrier of the photo, leaving a numb ache where it sliced through.
The second photo felt different. Warmer. The kitchen walls blurred in the background, blending his image into my reality. His face was still hard, carved in its sharp angles, yet enriched with patient amusement. He wasn't looking directly into the camera like the last one, but just above it—as if he were looking at someone behind the lens. His eyes bled with emotion; they melted in their sockets like molten honey.
Both versions felt incomplete—like pieces of a puzzle that didn't quite fit together; like I didn't know which one was real anymore.
I folded them carefully, slipping them into my pocket before closing the bin as quietly as I could.
The sound of footsteps behind me broke the silence, and I turned to see Charlie standing in the doorway, a small, tired smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Sue was just behind him, her hands resting on the back of a chair.
"You all settled in, kid?" Charlie asked, his voice a little rough from the long day, but still carrying that familiar warmth.
I nodded, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. The photos in my pocket felt like lead against my thigh, but I forced a smile for his sake. "Yeah, just finished up here. I'll head to bed soon."
Sue gave me a gentle pat on the arm, her eyes kind but observant, as if she could sense the weight I was carrying but knew better than to pry. "We'll let you get some rest then," she said softly. "Goodnight, Bella."
"Goodnight," I replied, my voice quieter now.
Charlie's eyes softened as he glanced between Sue and me, his voice quieting. "You're always welcome here, you know that."
I nodded, a quiet appreciation settling over me. "I know. Thanks, Dad."
Charlie hesitated for a moment, his gaze lingering on me, as if he wanted to say something more. But instead, he just gave a small nod. "Night, kiddo," he said.
"Goodnight."
Sue echoed the sentiment before they turned back down the hall, the soft creak of the floorboards fading as they disappeared upstairs.
I stood there for a moment, feeling the warmth of their care settle over me. My hand drifted back to my pocket, my fingers brushing the edges of the photos.
The rain continued outside, a steady rhythm that matched the quiet beat of my heart. I glanced around the kitchen one last time before switching off the light, the room plunging into darkness.
I glanced at the couch where Seth had laid out the blankets for us. The lounge felt cozy, with the soft glow of the TV casting a faint light across the room. My mattress was tucked into the corner—the only empty one, now with the gaping hole by the couch. But it felt claustrophobic.
The water was still running upstairs. Maybe I could get some fresh air before Seth comes back down—have some time to gather my thoughts.
The cool draft seeped into the house as I cracked the door open. I stepped outside, slipping the photos from my pocket. The rain had slowed to a fine mist, wrapping the world in a damp veil. It clung to my cheeks and seeped through my clothes.
Frogs were croaking in the distance. Their low voices cut through the quiet—just a murmur against the patter of rain. Somewhere further off, water dripped steadily from the branches, the drops hitting the earth with soft, irregular beats.
I leaned against the porch railing. It wood was cold and slick beneath my fingers.
The photos felt heavy in my hand, their edges damp where I had clutched them too tightly. They shouldn't have mattered. They were just remnants—shadows. But they did matter. They mattered too much.
I gazed into his eyes again, succumbing to their warmth. They melted into amber, spilling over the edges of the paper like liquid gold, little droplets falling onto my skin. I slumped further into the wall as the droplets dissolved. I let them pull my body down as they fell towards the floor, through the gaps in the floorboards. I felt the ground warp beneath my weight, bowing down into the soil as I sank into the memory of him; of the way he looked at me—as if I was the only thing that mattered in his world.
Soft threads of grass weave through my fingers as I gently rub a blade between my fingers. A soft glow pulses above me. It seeps through the holes in the canopy of trees, casting a gentle glow over the meadow.
There's something white and still tugging at my attention. My focus easily surrenders to the beautiful creature sitting beside me.
The marble planes of his body are smooth and angular, glinting slightly as it catches the sparing rays above us. Grass and branches envelope around him, as if they've known him for centuries. It's as if the forest is breathing with him.
Buried just below the marble surface sits two pools of molten amber. They mirror the swarm of wildflowers surrounding us, casting purple shapes that bloom across their golden depths. Their edges overflow with a tenderness that vibrates within my soul. I see my own eyes within them, too—wide and captivated, like a deer in the headlights.
I find myself moving closer, towards the channel of energy pulsing from his lips. So close, that my breath bounces over his skin, absorbing its coldness as it reflects back onto my cheeks.
When our lips are close enough to touch, the warmth vanishes.
The molten lava freezes over.
He pushes me away, consumed by the shadows. His beauty begins disintegrates into a white dust. It clings to the flattened patch of grass beside me, the dimming light reflecting across its fragile surface like shattered diamonds. nothing but a flattened patch of grass beside me. It feels like the whole meadow has died.
A whisper seeps into my skull. It drips through the ridges of my brain like water through a sieve.
It will be as if I never existed.
The wood felt cold beneath me. Prickles sizzled over my skin, raising goosebumps across my body. I felt like my next breath would set my body in flames.
My head was limp, locked to the photo still trapped between my fingers. It was blurry and shaking, shifting in and out of focus—as if it would dissolve under the spell of his words.
I couldn't let him disappear—not entirely.
There was a faint creak of the floorboards behind me. Turning slowly, I saw Seth standing in the hallway, half-hidden in the shadows. His expression was unreadable but his eyes were wide, as if he had been waiting there for a while.
"Hey," I said quietly, surprised but not startled by his presence. His energy always had a softness to it, as if he was trying not to take up too much space in the world. But there was something different about him now—something quieter, more reflective.
He stepped forward slowly, his bare feet making no sound on the wooden floor. "Couldn't sleep," he mumbled, his voice low, almost as if he was talking to himself more than to me.
I nodded. "Me neither."
Seth sat down next to me on the steps. I scooted over to make more room for him. His legs pulled up close to his chest, resting his chin on his knees. We both stared out into the mist, at the rain blurring the world into soft, indistinct shapes. The frogs continued their low croaking, their rhythm like a heartbeat to the night.
"You ever think about… how things are supposed to go?" Seth eventually asked, his voice just a waiver against the rain. His eyes flicked up to mine, searching, as if he wasn't sure what he was asking.
"Yeah, I've felt that way before," I said after a pause, my voice soft. I tilted my head, offering a small smile that didn't quite reach my eyes. "Sometimes, it feels like we're just… stuck in something bigger than ourselves."
Seth didn't say anything, but his jaw tightened slightly.
"Do you feel like that?" I asked, my tone careful, not wanting to push too hard but sensing that he had something he needed to say.
He was quiet for a moment, his brow furrowing as he considered my words. "Sometimes," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Like with my dad. And Leah… after she changed. It's like, no matter what I do, it's just… it doesn't matter. It's already decided, and I'm just… here."
The rain fell in delicate patterns against the grass, each drop vanishing as quickly as it appeared.
I reached out and brushed a strand of hair from his forehead, my fingers lingering for a moment in the softness of his hair. "Sometimes," I said gently, "people change in ways we can't see right away. Like the rain," I gestured to the mist swirling in front of us, "it changes everything it touches, but it's so slow you don't notice until it's already soaked through."
Seth glanced at the rain, watching the way it wove through the mist like tiny silver threads. "Leah's not like she used to be," he whispered, his voice breaking slightly at the edges. "She's… angry all the time. It's like… I don't know, like she's fighting something, but I don't know what."
His words settled between us, heavy and thick—like the mist wrapping around the trees. I didn't rush to answer; I let the sound of the rain fill the space, letting him feel what he needed to feel.
"I think she's hurting," I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper. "And when people hurt, they sometimes put up walls so they don't feel it as much. But it doesn't mean she doesn't love you. She's just… trying to figure out how to be herself again."
Seth nodded slowly, but his brow remained furrowed. I could tell he was still trying to make sense of everything he felt but couldn't name. He was like a sponge, absorbing the emotions around him, trying to make sense of them, but they didn't fit neatly into the world he knew.
He shifted slightly, leaning his frame into my side. I wrapped my arm around him, pulling him closer. The night wrapped around us like a heavy blanket, the air thick with the rain-soaked leaves and woodsmoke.
"You know, it's okay to feel like this," I said softly, my hand still moving through his hair. "You don't always have to understand everything. Sometimes, feelings are bigger than words."
Seth nodded, his chin still resting on his knees, his small body curled into itself as if trying to hold everything in. He wasn't looking at me anymore. His gaze had dropped to the grass, but I could see the thoughts moving behind his eyes, flickering like shadows.
We both fell into silence again, but it wasn't empty. The rain and the mist wove themselves through the night—it filled the gaps between our words.
After a long pause, Seth spoke again, his voice even quieter than before. "Do you think… things happen for a reason?"
His question felt as delicate as the rain, and I didn't answer right away. I didn't want to give him false hope or tell him that everything made sense when I knew it didn't.
"I don't know," I said finally, my voice tender. "Sometimes I think things happen, and we make our own meaning out of them. Like… we choose what to hold onto, and that shapes how we see the world."
Seth seemed to consider this for a moment, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of the step beneath him. "I just don't want to lose people anymore," he said, his voice so small it almost got lost in the sound of the rain.
I felt a tugging ache in my chest at his words, but I kept my voice steady. "I know," I said softly, my hand resting gently on his shoulder, offering whatever comfort I could in that moment. "But even when people change or leave, the love you have for them—that doesn't go away. It stays with you. It's part of you."
Seth didn't answer, but he leaned into me more fully, his warm body warm against mine as we both watched the rain slip through the mist, the world around us a soft blur. The frogs' chorus continued, their calls echoing through the night, and the porch creaked slightly beneath us as we sat together in the quiet.
And though we didn't have the answers to the questions that weighed down on us, there was a quiet peace in just letting the world move around us.