Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight and all its characters.

Bella

The sky is a warm blue today. It reminds me of a soft, fuzzy blanket—the kind you have as a child... the one that goes everywhere with you despite the fraying that is now apparent at the edges. It is comfort and my eyes don't want to leave the colour; I don't want to be met with the stark white walls that surround me as I wait for the coffee machine to do its job.

The door opens and I am pulled away, my gaze finding more beauty, just without the solace.

The back hem of his t-shirt is caught in the top of his jeans this morning, and I want to reach out and tug it free, attempt to make everything perfect. But he's too far away at a table not looking at me like I am at him. He's up later than usual, the clock reading almost midday, yet he still looks tired, as if he hasn't had a full night's sleep in a while.

And I know that feeling all too well. It's an old, unwelcome friend that I wish would just leave.

I take a mug from the cupboard... his mug—the same mug he's had since we were teens. It has a slight chip on the handle from where I accidently dropped it in the sink a few years back, a flaw of white porcelain against dark blue paint. I love that he hasn't discarded it, thrown it away with other things that are now deemed worthless. It gives me hope that if he can keep something as simple as this, then maybe he'll feel the same way about me too. That I'm worth sticking around for; that we're worth sticking around for.

I sit across from him and slide the coffee in his direction, reluctant to remove my hand from the warmth until he reaches for it, wanting that contact I now expect and crave each morning. But minutes pass and his hands remain where they are: folded together on a wooden table that is dotted with dark knots in the grain.

My eyes stare and stare, my mouth tightens—I'm being stubborn, not willing to give up just yet. I'm being ridiculous, fighting for something as small as this; fighting for something that is nothing in comparison to everything else that is happening to us.

"You can leave it there. I'll have it in a minute." It's a dismissal. It's a leave me alone.

It's another pierce to my already damaged heart.

I get up—give up—and turn around, immediately closing my eyes as I hear the scrape of the mug against the wood. My throat constricts, a noose around my neck.

My gaze once again finds blue skies.

XXX

I put in my favourite earrings, the pair my mom gave me when I turned fourteen. They'd belonged to her own mother—she'd thought I was responsible enough to be given them. I wish I knew what she'd seen in me that had caused her to reach that decision. I wish I'd asked, instead of simply giving the biggest of smiles before sitting in front of her dresser as I tried them on. They were silver, with delicate diamonds encrusted around the outer edges, like the shape of a crystal fringed sun.

My dress is simple, black—I don't feel like celebrating. New Year's had always been exciting to me as a kid. I loved how I was allowed to stay up until midnight with my parents, always feeling so grown up. We'd sit in the backyard and watch the fireworks that our neighbours would send scuttling towards the darkness before exploding into some of the prettiest colours I'd ever seen. Dad never got us any of our own, always being Mr. Safety, but he did buy me a sparkler every year, while making sure that I kept it well away from my body. It was like whizzing sherbet on a stick; I laughed each time I'd wave it out in front of me, making shapes that made no sense.

But those times have long gone, disappearing just like those fireworks, and I'm going somewhere that is somehow now just as familiar to me, but not as longed for.

"Are you ready to go?" He already has the car keys in his hand, spinning them around his finger like a dizzying Catherine wheel.

He's dressed smartly, white shirt and pressed charcoal trousers—I suddenly miss his worn jeans and plaid shirts that I would end up stealing when I got cold, rather than slip on a sweater from my own closet.

"I just need to get my shoes," I say, turning back to my reflection in the mirror. Sometimes it hurts to look at him. Memories... always so many memories.

~CitP~

I always find myself staring out the window before class begins, eyes drifting from parked car to parked car, the different coloured paint blurring into one giant mass, like smudged rainbows. And today is no different. But the reasons aren't the same as they are in other classes. No... this reason has just pulled his chair from under the desk beside me.

Whatever aftershave he must put on in the mornings lingers over me like smoke, further evidence that he's right here. My pulse quickens, and it feels like my heart is just going to push its way from my chest, which only ever happens when he's around. I feel ridiculous and childish, and more than anything, I want this weird feeling to never go away, even though, sometimes I think I hate it.

I've only spoken to Edward Cullen a handful of times, all consisting of words that have everything to do with the assignments and nothing to do with me... or him.

I've noticed boys before, but they've simply been fleeting moments—someone walking in the opposite direction to me in the supermarket aisle with a friendly smile—but this... this is different. These aren't fleeting moments, they're everyday butterfly attacks and flushed cheeks, and jealousy over how long his lashes are.

"Are you okay?" His voice is closer... louder than I expected. I startle, realising I'm still staring out the window, and swing my head around too fast, instantly feeling a little dizzy.

"Um, yeah. I'm fine," I say, blinking.

He carries on staring, and almost looks irritated with himself over something, but his eyes... they don't leave mine.Beautiful... devastating.

"You have a little ink on your cheek," he informs me, not looking at wherever the supposed mark is.

My eyes drop to my fingers, seeing the blue smudges, knowing my pen has leaked again. "Oh," I mumble. "Where?"

I look back at him expectantly, and hold my breath as he hesitates for the briefest of moments before the pads of his fingers brush across my right cheek.

His lips part. "Right... there."

Oh God.

I use the sleeve of my sweater to try and rub the spot where his fingers touched, eyes darting to his face as I pull my hand away. "Gone?"

He shakes his head. "No, not even close."

Then he smiles, and it's slightly crooked, but perfect, and I swear my heart can't take much more.

Again, devastating.

~CitP~

I hear Carlisle before I see him, his laugh travelling around the side of the house. Edward walks beside me, hands in pockets, seemingly at ease. I want nothing more than to turn back around—I don't want to follow this yellow brick road.

Fairy lights are entwined amongst the branches of the trees that encircle the grounds, spotlights illuminating the dark, hiding places snatched away. I feel trapped.

Esme hugs us both, holding me at the elbows as she takes a step back. "You're getting thinner every time I see you," she comments, actually appearing worried. I smile, a false assurance.

"I'm fine," I lie, sensing Edward watching me.

Is he worried he'll appear flawed to those around him if I told the truth?—I'm unhappy. I sometimes cry myself to sleep. But most of all, I'm scared your son no longer loves me.

I'm scared I no longer have it in me to even know what the word means.

"Edward, make sure she starts eating more. We can't have her pretty face disappearing on us," she says matter of fact.

I look up, watching him as he studies my face. His brows are drawn. "No, no we can't."

I leave them with the excuse of getting a drink, and simply start walking around the garden, eyes open but not really seeing anything. I stop at a particularly pretty plant, its petals as pink as cotton candy.

"I didn't take you as the green-fingered type."

I know that voice. It always seems to find me when I'm lonely.

Jasper smiles and hands me a drink, a slice of lemon floating on the top.

I smile weakly in thanks, not really thirsty, but not wanting to be rude. "Oh, I'm not. I just thought the colour was pretty," I say. "I'm such a cliché. A girl likes the colour pink." I laugh, shaking my head at myself.

He shares my laugh lightly. "I'd call you anything but a cliché. I think there's a lot more to you than the obvious."

I turn to face him, not really knowing what to say to that. It immediately makes me think of Edward, and how he always told me I was his closed-off book.

One that he wanted to keep with him always.

My teeth find the inside of my cheek, determined not to keep thinking along the paths that end in pain, thorns ripping at the skin, exposing the hurt.

I change the subject. "How are you finding living with the soon-to-be-married couple?"

His hand finds his hair. "I swear, all Rose can think about is the wedding. And with Kate staying there too, it's like a double-attack. She's just as excited as Rose is."

I'd forgotten about Kate. "She's staying then, until the wedding?"

He nods, taking a mouthful of the amber liquid in his glass. "Yeah, seems that way."

I return his nod, watching the lemon bounce from one side of my drink to the other. "Is she here tonight? I didn't see her when I arrived."

"She was with Esme earlier," he says distractedly, his eyes flitting around the garden, before coming to a standstill. "Ah, there she is, talking with Edward."

Of course she is.

"Did you want to go say hi?" he asks, looking a little confused. I shake my head, suddenly feeling sick.

"Hey, you okay? You've gone a little pale." He places his hand on my shoulder, trying to catch my eyes.

"Just a headache," I say weakly.

He rests his hand at the small of my back as he directs me to the main patio area. His touch is all wrong, yet still comforting. "Can I get you anything?"

I go to say, no, honestly, I'm fine, thanks, when Edward smiles widely at the girl opposite him, something I haven't seen him do in months. The sight is both glorious and agonizing, and I know I can't stay to watch the fireworks, because despite the thorns, nothing will be as beautiful as that. Everything will pale in comparison.

"Do you think you could maybe take me home?" I ask, trying to keep my voice under control. I don't care that I've only just got here.

"Of course," he says kindly. "Let me go grab my keys."

Relief washes over me. "You sure? You haven't had too much to drink?"

He smiles. "Definitely a cop's kid. I've had a few sips, promise." I don't remember telling him what Charlie does for a living.

"Okay." I smile gratefully, getting to my feet once he disappears into the house.

Emmett accosts me just as I reach Edward. "And where have you been hiding? I've got a surprise for you," he grins.

I smile despite the internal battle going on inside my head. "Nowhere," I reply. "I've been here."

"She's been with your future brother-in-law." Edward watches my reaction over the rim of his glass, lowering it after a couple of gulps.

I give him nothing. "I'm going home," I inform him, wrapping my arms around my middle.

"Already?" Emmett asks. "But what about your surprise?"

Edward's question registers first.

"Why?"

My eyes drift to Kate before I answer. "I'm feeling unwell." She gives me a sympathetic look, before excusing herself to go and find Rosalie. And I hate her, and want to thank her for making the most important person in my world smile when I can't. Which only makes me think I hate her more.

"Let me just go and tell the others I'm leaving for a bit so I can drop you home."

I stop his exit, my hand on his chest, pushing him back. "I have a ride. It's fine."

His attention shifts to something behind me, and I follow it, finding Jasper waiting patiently by the side of the house.

"I'll take you," he repeats again, forcefully, but I shake my head. I need the distance. I need to not be around him right now, because I know if I stay, I'll break down.

But I don't say that. "You've had too much to drink." And he can't argue with that. We usually stay here, his old bedroom once our sanctuary, now just a room full of pasts; trinkets holding treasured items. The atmosphere between us has taken away everything that was special. And everything that is still special is too hard to think about. It's an endless circle of bliss and ache, potent drinks that leave you wishing you hadn't. Ever. But you still go and do it again weeks later.

"So I'll see you at home... whenever."

He doesn't give me a reply.

"I'll make sure he gets home in one piece," Em promises, giving me a mini salute. He's the one trying, when he has no reason to.

I smile weakly, before asking, "Hey, Em, what was that surprise?"

He puts his arm around my shoulders, smile in place, but eyes sad. "I bought sparklers." And so much warmth blooms for him right then, new buds opening in spring to the wonder of light, because he knows. He gets it.

I reach up on my toes and kiss his cheek, whispering a thank you into his ear.

"I'll save them for the next national holiday," he winks, before leaving us both alone.

Silence, green eyes that won't leave me alone, making my head throb in time with my heartbeat. "I'll see you tomorrow," I say when I can't take any more, stepping forward. And I don't know why I do it, probably because we're in front of his family and I'm leaving, and wouldn't it be weird if I didn't kiss my husband goodbye? So I place the softest of kisses against his jaw and say, "I'd forgotten how pretty your smile is."

His body stiffens, and when I pull away, his expression is so intense, and his mouth is open, as if he's about to say something in return. But I don't stay to listen to whatever it is he may have said. Instead, I'm the one walking away.

XXX

I wake up to the sound of something smashing downstairs. Panic instantly sets in, and my hands fumble for the lamp switch. I begin to think I've imagined it when nothing follows, but then I hear muffled voices, or maybe it's just the one, but either way, there's no one here but me.

My phone is downstairs, and maybe for the first time in recent months, I wish I was still at Esme and Carlisle's. Then a loud curse resonates upstairs, and I'm no longer afraid. I'd know that lilt even in my sleep.

I make my way downstairs, slipping my arms through my cardigan as I do, wanting the comfort of something warm and familiar, like hot cocoa at the first sign of snow.

He has his head in his hands, elbows on his knees as he sits on the sofa, as still as long-standing statues.

I freeze. "Edward?"

His head snaps up, and I'm confused, and yet weirdly happy that he didn't stay... that he came home. It's obvious to see he'd had more to drink after I'd left, his eyes a little bloodshot, but he doesn't appear to be in any sort of state other than looking tired.

"You're awake."

I nod. "You woke me."

His gaze travels the length of me. "Jasper took his time getting back," he states casually, but I know underneath that tone, he means it to be everything but.

"I made him coffee. Showed him the house," I shrug, looking around the floor for the evidence of a smashed vase or photo frame.

"You're lying. You're avoiding eye contact."

I stop, and look him straight in the eye. "Excuse me?"

He ignores my question, and asks another of his own. Alcohol courage. "Did you kiss him goodbye, too?"

I can't believe he's even going there. "Do you hear yourself right now?" I question, incredulity colouring my voice.

"You didn't answer my question," he replies, getting to his feet.

I press my teeth together, hard. "What do you think?"

He doesn't hesitate. "Yes."

It's like a punch to the stomach. "Well, then you'd be wrong." And I hate the way my voice breaks a little.

He looks at me for a long time without saying a word, and I think, that's it, he'll go back to being evasive and indifferent.

And before I can stop myself, I'm asking a question of my own. A demand. "Who got your kiss at midnight?"

He wasn't expecting that. "No one," he answers me.

"You're lying," I accuse, even though I'm not sure that he is. I just want him to see how it feels. See how he made mefeel.

"Was it Kate?" I wonder aloud. "She's really pretty, I'd understand."

I'm getting to him. See, Edward, it's not nice, is it?

"It's okay, you can admit it," I tell him calmly. "I'll forgive you."

Those three words are his limit, his breaking point.

"What? You want more lies, more hurt? Do you want me to say yes?" He's shouting, his tone harsh... angry. Full of such raw emotion. The planes of his face, his expression, they're different now from then. It's a side I didn't see until lately. At least not directed at me. He's burning inside and out, and I want to reach out and touch the flames, show him that mine match; let the wildfire spread until everything turns to smoking ash, black, billowing clouds rising to the sky.

I swallow down the tears I won't let run. My own anger. I want to inflict—more and more and more. He's showing me something, ugly as it is. It changes nothing. It tells me everything.

"I don't know you," I say, looking up into unyielding green. It's honest, and real, and I can't stop the words from escaping my trembling lips.

The smallest flicker of lashes, long and dark. Shock. "You choose not to. You gave up trying to a long time ago." And I guess he's being just as honest now too, voicing what he feels is sincere, only without the quivering mouth. His strength is superior to mine, defined and stable, angular mountains and high peaks.

My face scrunches, my head shakes.

No. No!

"I've done nothing but try," I respond, my own voice now just as loud as his. My hand grabs the front of my dress, fisting fabric that won't tear. It's an amour I didn't anticipate.

"This isn't me." Another shake of my head—nothing's ever his fault. "I won't allow you to place this all on me." His feet move, invisible magnets pulling him closer, but I haven't finished. "You left this marriage all on your own."

His face hardens. "I'm still standing here, aren't I? I haven't gone anywhere!"

My hand finds his arm, a button on the front of his shirt. "Maybe, in person... in touch," I say as my hand rises. "But not here," I profess, my palm now flat against his chest, above where his heart beats, "and that's the most important part."

He swallows heavily, and I want to stop, shut up... not drive him further away. But my breaking point is fast approaching, a speeding car without any brakes.

"Without this," I press harder, "you being here is nothing. Nothing."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"No?"

Another flicker. "No."

I take a step back, arms once again at my sides. "You act as if I'm not even here half the time. You barely even touch me."

His lips curve at the corners, but the smile isn't one of amusement. He's being serious. "Oh, you couldn't be more wrong if you tried. I know you're here. Always."

A bitter laugh. "So I'm imagining it all? My head is making all this up? I have no reason to be saying any of this?"

He breaks eye contact, his head turning to the side, jaw taut. He's closing down on me, shutting the door in my face.

"Answer me."

His gaze returns, but he says nothing... at least not in words. My face is suddenly between his palms, so close to his own. His fingers are electric to my skin, the sensation both terrifying and calming.

His lips barely touch my own, whispers and ghosting feathers. "Is this what you want? Is this enough touching for you?" There's no lust in his voice, no adoration.

This isn't Edward... my Edward. Or maybe it is. Maybe this is all he now has left to give, which makes my chest constrict in the worst of ways. I thought I'd be relieved at the smallest bit of contact, but not this... not this. He's doing this because he thinks it's what I want; he's trying to prove something to me, but that's not what any of this is about.

I want him to kiss me because he truly wants to, because he needs to, because he loves me... loves us, and feels that draw that made us the happiest of couples—that made us the best versions of ourselves.

My hands are shaking as I bring them up to cover his. "Not like this. It's cruel. You're being cruel."

His expression shifts again, his look shattering. The slightest of pressure against my mouth, and then: "I don't know you anymore either."

He walks away, and this time I know I've lost him. I just don't know for how long. Forever is unthinkable.

We used to smile more. We used to laugh. We used to be one.

Now... now we're struggling to find our way, lost in overcrowded forests, no visible gaps between the trees.

We've become trapped in our very own forgotten garden.

Date: 2015-12-18; view: 725