Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight and all its characters.

Bella

Dawn breaks, but the electrifying colours don't last. Ashen skies in heavy slate loom through glass; oyster clouds with a sombre undertone, soot choking the heavens. A chiffon sheer coats the windows, flecks of falling tears, morphing into a river of despair... and I follow it. I let myself be carried away—I don't fight it. I float, waiting, cold, but nothing changes.

I sit and hate myself. I sit and hate him. I sit and wonder if I've made a mistake.

I stand and quickly stop myself from making an even bigger one as I reach for my keys.

It hurts being here without him, my insides torn to shreds; confetti in the shape of paper hearts ripped in two. But there's no celebration—no head tilted to the sky with smiles that blind, no ears full with the sound of cheers.

Nothing hits my cheeks or gets stuck in my hair. There's no hand cupped with mine, pulling me forward through a crowd. It's just hit after hit to pumping red muscle. And all I want to do is scream.

I'm all cried out, clear tracks of once tears coating my cheeks, now as dry as the desert, a writhing pathway of hopes dashed.

Renee had found me curled up on the sofa, a throw pillow crushed to my chest, needing to hold, needing to ground.

...

"Bella?" She closes the door, bags dropped to the floor, forgotten, and I can only imagine what I look like to her right now.

I blink through clumped lashes, trying to focus. "It hurts," I tell her, tongue heavy, lips sore, eyes puffy. She sits on bended knees in front of me, checking for outside damage that she won't find. It's inside, all of it, rupturing in my chest and making me dizzy, nauseous.

There is a smudge of dried blood from the graze on my knee, but it's nothing in comparison. It's mocking me with its red—it will heal, I'm not worried like she is.

"Did you hurt yourself, Sweetheart?" she asks, soft and calm despite the panic that is brewing in her eyes.

And I nod, and feel like I'm choking, because I have... so much.

"You fell?" she questions, again, looking to my knee, confusion making her brows draw closer.

I pull in a shaky breath: I did more than fall...

I plummeted without wings.

She gives me a small, bemused smile, the same one I got when I repeatedly fell off my bike when learning to ride without training wheels. "We'll get you fixed up. It's only a tiny cut by the looks of it."

I shake my head, and want to laugh, but instead my eyes well up, and wetness trickles down my skin. "I think I'm going to need more than a band-aid to fix this, Mom," I whisper, fingers unconsciously moving to rest on the left side of my chest, over my heart.

She pauses, studying, brows settling as she finally understands; no more questions are needed for now. They'll come later, but there are more important things that need to come first.

Her gaze speaks of sadness. "Oh, Bella." And with just those two words, I'm falling all over again, leaning forward into my mother's arms as she tells me everything's going to be okay.

But it won't... it won't. How can it?

...

There's no end in sight—no phone calls, no pounding on doors with angry fists. Nothing. I don't know what I expected, but I should have known. I did this; one rash action from one person, and suddenly a domino effect is in motion. And everybody falls.

No one more than myself.

But it had to happen... there was no more pretending. All I'd ever wanted was him, nothing else mattered. However, somewhere along the way, that must have changed... for us both. Jealousy, bitterness... loneliness, it all took its toll, and simply being together in any capacity was no longer enough to keep us from falling apart. It ate away at us, piece by broken piece, until desperation drove us to punish; to ignore, to pretend. But I couldn't forget, couldn't flip a switch that would make me stop remembering. And if I couldn't, then neither could he. It was everywhere we looked—in the house we shared, in the pictures on the wall, in the touches that were no more. We changed before each other's eyes, became strangers to the one person that we knew so well... knew better than anyone. We pushed that all aside and sank, afraid to swim—afraid to admit we were drowning in the first place.

The distance between us expanded slowly at first—no goodnights before bed, no kisses and have a good days before work. Simple things that are taken for granted. I told myself they'd work themselves out. A small crack is nothing. Nothing. I had to believe that... had to. The gaps could be covered up, stepped over without any resulting hassle. No one had to worry, these things happen. Not everything could be perfect. But I was stupid, and naive, and so, so desperate. All too soon those little cracks started popping up in places they shouldn't, merging together like overgrown vines, until finally it all became too much, the ground splitting in two; splitting until we were stranded on opposite sides of the street, simply staring at the abyss that lay between us.

And hadn't we jumped? It felt like I'd jumped so, so high, so far...

But had it been enough?

Either way I'd fallen into darkness.

I rest my head against the window, temple to glass, and look out meeting my own reflection, my own eyes. But they're not the right colour. Not the ones I want. There's no life, no spark; they're dead bark, and I long for moss.

Edward stopped coming home some nights, choosing to drive the farther distance to his parents' house than come home to me. And I would lie in bed, wondering what I'd done wrong, waiting for that phone call that would tell me he'd chosen to sleep without me.

But those calls never came, because that's not what we did, at least not at the beginning. After a few months though, that all changed. And we learned that the full weight of words could hurt.

Especially the cruel ones.

...

The phone rings, his name flashing across the screen. For a moment I think about not answering it, but the fact that he's even bothered to call is enough for me to press accept.

"I won't be home tonight."

There's no hello; no I'm sorry or I miss you, just that, and I have to resist the urge to hang up.

"Where are you?" I ask, even though I know all too well. It's close to midnight, and I'm tired of being alone.

"In bed," he sighs, the sound of papers rustling travelling down the phone.

Why are you phoning? is what I really want to ask, but of course, that's not what ends up leaving my mouth.

I look beside me on instinct. "Why aren't you in this bed?" I question, hating the feel of cool sheets where there should be warm legs.

Is he looking for an argument?

Am I?

Silence. Only breathing.

"Edward?" I press, sitting up against the pillows.

"Because I wanted to be alone."

I think he is.

I swallow heavily. "Are your parents' home?"

A pause. "Yes."

I take a deep breath. "Then you're not really alone, are you?" I whisper, staring at the swirling pattern of the duvet cover; round and round, smaller and smaller.

"I guess not," he replies casually. And it hurts.

I close my eyes, gripping the duvet with one hand. "Be honest," I whisper, and I guess I'm all too willing to push him back. "Why didn't you come home tonight?"

I hear the whoosh of sliding doors, and know he's stepped outside. "I had to speak to my father about something."

Wrong.

My tongue clicks against the roof of my mouth. "And you couldn't have done that over the phone?"

"No, it was too important."

I frown, throat tight. "But I'm not important enough that you can phone me close to midnight to say you won't be home... hours after you're meant to be?"

I bite my lip, hating how my voice breaks.

Weak.

The wind crackles down the line, threatening to break the reception. "It's different."

No, Edward, it really isn't.

"You're lying. Be honest with me."

I say it again... and again, voice rising, so, so tired.

"Stop!" he snaps, interrupting me after my third attempt. "I didn't want to come home to you, is that what you wanted to hear? Do you feel better now?"

He's shouting, and I welcome it. Hearing his anger is better that drowning in my own anguish. But then his words register, and I'm falling under all over again, bubbles rising to the surface as I scream and choke.

"Yes, I feel better," I voice, rubbing my eyes before the tears can fall. "Do you?"

I don't wait for his answer.

I already know what it will be.

...

I turn away from the window and squeeze my lids closed, waiting... cold. Minutes... hours... all I see is grey—black and white re-runs that never end.

And still nothing changes.

XXX

A door closes, voices that aren't quite a whisper muffled to my ears as they drift through bedroom walls. Charlie's home; he's no doubt questioning why my car is parked outside the house at this time of the morning. But I don't want to think about the words my parents are exchanging, my thoughts drifting to faces that I also wish I could block, even if for a minute. I want the blank nothingness of the ocean—the stark white of all encompassing snow: quiet, solitude... peace. I want to drift away on sailboats and forget.

Forget him.

But deep down I know that's a lie. I wonder what he's thinking, questions soaring through my head, white doves with messages in the smallest squares of torn paper attached to tiny stalks.

Is he thinking about me, like I am him?

Smiles so wide: smiles that reach your eyes and crinkle at the outer corners. Smiles that let me know you're happy. I want to kiss each and every one.

And I want to ask and ask and ask.

Are you staring out at nothing wanting it to be everything?

My fingers trace patterns on the panes of glass, invisible outlines of a different scene beyond sprung to life with a tip of a finger: A couple with fingers entwined, arms swinging between them, an unconscious sign of happiness.

I wash it all away with the palm of my hand.

Are you remembering all the good that is now infused with the bad; a net of gold and black thread, knotted and torn, seemingly irreparable?

I look to my left hand, third finger, where white gold glistens. I twist it—spin and spin, scared to stop and pull—scared to see it bare.

I was so happy the day he'd asked me that life-altering question, the one I was almost sure he wouldn't ask, his onetime declaration among tangled sheets never taken seriously.

~CitP~

Whisper soft kisses flutter across my skin, lips pressing to my cheeks, over and over, along with that perfect spot just behind my ear that makes me want to snuggle down even further. They are good morning, and wake up, and my favourite: I love you.

"I made breakfast," he murmurs, hand slipping beneath my sleep shirt, warming my skin.

A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth, one that I quickly try and hide. "I'm sleeping."

"Hmm," he hums, fingers teasing the underside of my breast, giving me goose bumps. "And yet, you're talking."

"It's a Sunday," I say, as if that explains everything.

I feel his smile against my skin. "I'm aware of what day it is."

A stilted gasp escapes my mouth, soft and breathy as I squirm. "Sunday mornings are meant for lie-ins," I clarify, arching against his hand as it covers my breast.

"But it's no longer morning," he breathes, teeth grazing against my skin. "It's already midday."

Oh.

"I'm tired," I whisper, feeling his body move closer, instinctively turning my face towards the warmth.

His lips find my cheek. "You're beautiful."

I can't hide my smile this time.

He links his fingers with mine, bringing my left hand to his mouth as he places a soft kiss to the middle of my palm, lips lingering briefly before pulling away. I want to stay here all day, exactly like this, warm and happy and comfortably sleepy.

The bed shifts, and I go to open my eyes, not wanting him to leave, but he's still beside me, sliding something halfway onto my finger...

And suddenly it feels as if my heart has stopped.

My eyes snap open, instantly meeting his as he holds the band of metal in place, not moving it any further.

His tongue sweeps against his bottom lip as he draws in a deep breath, determined and steadying.

"My favourite part of the day is waking up with you right next to me," he tells me, brushing the hair from my face as my heart beats, beats, beats inside my chest.

He swallows hard, eyes finding mine once again, holding me captive as light pours in from the window, highlighting the very tips of his hair. He's golden, and mine and I feel weightless.

"I know we're young, and people will no doubt think we're moving too fast... that I'm moving too fast," he breathes, "but when you find that one person you want to spend the rest of your life with, you don't let them get away from you—you take hold of them and run, because loving someone like that is the best feeling in the world."

I can't say anything... so overwhelmed in this moment I can do nothing but stare. Not that I need to.

"I want to wake up every day and know you'll be there when I open my eyes," he professes, using his free hand to trace the area above my left eye, gaze soft as every inch of my face is given his attention. "And I want to come home from work or school and pull you into my arms, because that's where you belong."

He slides the ring all the way down my finger, watching its descent before meeting my eyes once more. "And this ring... this is exactly where it belongs, right here, with you."

My throat feels like it's closing, and my eyes are stinging. I'm trembling, nervous and intoxicated with the kind of exultation that I didn't know existed.

"I want the kind of forever that makes others jealous," he says softly, brushing my hair from the other side of my face, his touch gentle and adoring. "The kind that is meant for the lucky few who know no one else can ever touch what they have."

I feel the first onslaught of tears escape from my eyes, but I don't brush them away. They are little pear-drops of emotion that can no longer be contained. Little shows of joy.

He cradles my face with his palms, thumbs brushing my cheeks. "I want that kind of forever with you," he whispers hoarsely, eyes searching mine beneath dark lashes.

And I swear I haven't known what true happiness feels like until this very moment.

Green eyes unyielding, and words that change my whole world, "Isabella Swan, will you marry me?"

I pause... not long enough to give him concern, and not because I don't know my answer or because I have any doubt—I simply want to remember this moment, embed as much detail into my memory as possible.

My fingers reach out to his jaw as I scratch softly at his stubble, my resulting smile one that I know will bring the sweetest ache to my cheeks. "Yes," I laugh, forcing him onto his back as I shift and throw myself on him, peppering his face with kisses. "Yes, yes, yes."

He responds with my favourite smile, the one where one side of his mouth lifts slightly higher than the other, heart-stoppingly perfect. "Yeah?" he asks, tucking my hair behind my ear.

I nod, breathless. "Yeah."

The backs of his fingers graze my cheek as his smile dips and turns into that soft upturn of lips; buttery-yellow cupcakes you want on your tongue.

"I love you."

I lean down and press my mouth to his, his hands weaving into my hair, bunching strands into fists at the back of my head as I stroke his tongue with my own, feeling the warmth of his bare chest through cotton. "And I love you."

I'm soon lost in touches that make my lips part and eyes flutter shut; touches that draw sounds out of me I don't know I own. Wet mouths and warm tongues, fingers that curl and make me gasp—whispered words against skin that make my heart ready to burst.

And I do all those things back—give and give and give—breaths shared and held as bodies join: push and pulls and so, so good.

Move; slow, fast, slow... faster—and flushed cheeks and loving stares say all that need to be said as bodies tense and let go.

~CitP~

I'd been positive my dreams of happily ever after were simply wishes of the heart. And I guess they still are.

Only this time, my dreams aren't so happy—they're plagued with past mistakes that linger and burn.

XXX

Sleepless nights parade on my face as I catch my reflection in the mirror by the front door; marching bands that have forgotten the music, mismatched notes bleeding together. It's the first time I've left my room other than to use the bathroom since I got here, the walls in the house feeling more like a prison than a safe-house. And I know all too well why. Even here I can't escape it. Any of it.

The house is still, apart from the gentle hum of the TV as I silently slip out the door clutching my blanket to me, and settle myself in the wicker chair on the porch, a favourite spot in summers past. The grey still hovers, night weighing in, oppressive and foretelling—it's fitting.

Then I see it, parked out front, my whole body tensing.

He's looking this way... watching, and I can do nothing but stare right back.

I thought I'd wanted him here, but actually seeing him... it changes things. It makes what I haven't got all too real.

The car door opens, and he steps out, same suit as yesterday, tie gone, shirt crinkled. And still too beautiful not to hurt.

Then I notice the bag in his hand... and the ache intensifies.

He's not here to talk... he's here to make sure I stay, and I'm glad I'm sitting, because the earth tilts, my head screaming for me to go back inside before further damage is caused.

His eyes don't leave mine as he walks, then stops right at the chair beside me, close enough to touch, and beg, and hurt right back.

I have to look away, unable to bear his gaze any longer. He lowers himself onto the matching chair, pushed at a slight angle, knees almost brushing. I pull my legs to my chest, and temptation is gone.

He sets the bag at my feet, ice broken. "I brought you some things," he says lowly, drawing his hand back to his side slowly.

Am I supposed to thank him?

"I wasn't sure you'd want to come back and get them yourself," he adds, staring straight ahead.

And where silence was once a way to hide, it's now a test of control.

He's made the decision for me... and I can't figure out who his actions benefit more: him or me?

"What happens now?" I ask.

His knee bounces, his eyes narrowing as he shifts his gaze to the sky. "I don't know."

But he must know, because he turns and stares at me for the longest moment, eyes searching, filling my own with clear despair, and I think he's going to say something else, his hands fisting in his lap, but he's on his feet before any of that can happen.

And the split in the ground gets bigger.

He leaves, and it takes everything I have in me not to follow him, but this time I stay exactly where I am. Because I was the one who chose to walk out, and this is why I'm here, after all.

His car pulls away, and I don't realise I'm gripping the blanket with tight fists until they start to ache.

Was it so easy for him to leave like that? No questions... no fight.

I sit and feel nothing. No hate, no tears; lonely icebergs that don't melt, surrounded by inky darkness that swallows you whole.

Night falls, stars dotting the sky with their winking light; a portrait of diamond infused granite.

That is until onyx eclipses everything, and all I'm left with is black.

It's different from grey; better, worse... numb—like falling asleep without the lights.

I stay sitting and wait for dawn.

Date: 2015-12-18; view: 633