|My Life, My Love, My Heart
Author: FictionFreak95 PM
ONE SHOT: Based on a very bad day dream. When tragedy strikes, how will you deal with it? AH, BxE Uber Angst.Rated: Fiction M - English - Tragedy/Angst - Bella & Edward - Words: 2,153 - Reviews: 94 - Favs: 66 - Follows: 39 - Published: 08-24-10 - Status: Complete - id: 6267451
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A/N: Stephenie Meyer has dreams and writes about them. I have nightmares. This is one of them.
My Life, My Love, My Heart
When tragedy strikes, how will you deal with it?
I'm ready, I've been ready, and now I'm closing my eyes to try and remain the adult in this situation.
"Hallie, please get your shoes and socks on, we're going to be late."
I check my watch and roll my eyes as she makes a face.
"But mommy I don't want to wear those shoes, I want my sparkly shoes." Her voice jumps an octave when she says sparkly. She loves sparkly things, if she could wear a sparkly shirt and sparkly skirts with sparkly shoes and have sparkly hair every day of her life, she would and she would be one happy little girl for it.
"And those socks don't match me."
It would make me laugh if I wasn't in such a rush to get my boss's report done for him before noon.
But right now, she's loud, and Edward is sleeping because he worked late again and I cannot take the sound of her voice.
"Shhhhh, Hallie, daddy's asleep, honey…please just get your shoes on."
"I want the sparkly ones, mommay."
Annnnnnd she's louder now. Good job.
My eyebrows curl slightly. "Oh, you mean the ones you jumped into the pool with them still on your feet yesterday? Those sparkly shoes? "
She nods, excitedly.
"They're. Still. Wet. Hallie. You can't wear them yet."
That's reasonable, right?
But reasonable is one thing, sarcasm and four year olds just do not mix.
Now she's got that look.
Waterworks building in the baby sized eyeballs.
And the crying, it makes me annoyed. She does this every time some little thing doesn't go her way, and it makes me completely insane.
How did I get such an overly sensitive child?
"I don't want to wear those shoes," she points, "I hate those shoes!"
It's heavy and tired and I cannot take this morning any more…or this week for that matter.
Someone shoot me. Now, please.
"You picked those shoes out, , you're wearing them." I'm handing her the socks and she refuses to take them.
"I hate those shoes!" she screams and now she's running up the stairs.
I put my keys and my purse down and chase her up there, I pick her up and bring her back down while she's screaming, hoping to get her far enough away from the bedrooms that she won't wake Edward.
It's funny to me. odd things wake him up.
Crickets, but not a screaming baby.
The dog's nails against the tile floor, but not a cry in the night over a bad dream.
"Hallie, if you don't put those shoes on, you're not getting desert later."
Bad idea, threatening with the ice cream.
She's not the only one that never learns.
I set her down as the buzzer for the dryer goes off.
"Will you help me?" she asks, and my sweetness is back.
"I can't right now, Hallie, getting the laundry, hurry please." I throw the laundry into a basket and set it on the couch to fold when I'm done with my report later, probably over my lunch hour.
"Mommy, pleeeeaaaaaaasse help me?"
"Hallie, you're almost five years old, you know how to put your own shoes on."
Jesus fucking Christ.
I sigh again.
Heavier than before and I let it linger as long as I can before I need to breathe again.
"I don't have time for this Hallie," I sing. "PLEASE get your SHOES on before I LOSE my TEMPER with YOU."
Like's it's not already lost.
And now I'm the one that's getting louder.
Because I have deadlines and asshole higher ups to deal with and I if I don't get her to summer day camp and get back home quickly, my supervisor will be pinging me and my day will be complete shit if I'm not here.
With a little more crying and a little more threatening, the shoes are finally on and in the car, it's not much better.
"Put your seatbelt on, please."
"I don't like it, it's tight and I can't lock it."
"Yes you can, I've seen you do it before."
It must be really nice to be Dr. Phil.
I turn the music off and she's screaming again for her music but I tell her if she'll put her seatbelt on, she'll get the music back.
Which only makes her scream more.
Another minute of this back and forthness and my voice getting raised to an unhealthy level and the seatbelt is finally on and we're on our way.
"Bop, bop, bop, bop tilllllll drop...me ooooooho me oohhh…."
I laugh at the sound of her singing voice. It's so small and cute and…
"Stop laughing mommy, it's not funny!"
"I'm laughing with you, honey, not at you."
Yes, a green light!
We roll through the intersection and she is singing again.
I hide my smile.
We're there and she wants to hear the rest of the song but I don't have time so we're arguing again as I take her to her class room, practically dragging her.
"I want to stay home with you, mommy, I don't like it here."
She likes it. Loves it actually. I know she's only saying this to play on my inner sucker but I don't have the patience for it. Not today. Not most days.
We get to her class and thank god it's the first one because dragging her down that hallway any further the way I was might make me look like an abusive parent.
I'm not, I'm just trying to be a hard ass with her because she can't live her whole life being sensitive and crying over everything.
She's clingy today but I kiss her forehead and tell her I'll be back after work and I leave her crying.
But she'll get over it, by the time I'm in the car, she'll be over it.
I bump into a man on the way out who seems almost as annoyed as I am and I think silently to myself, join the club.
Finally, I'm back in my car, and it's quiet and I praise God for small fucking favors.
I turn my music on and crank it to get the tension out.
It's Green Day. I love them. I love this song.
I pull the car into the garage, close the garage door, throw my purse and keys back down onto the table where they don't belong but I really don't give a shit and sit down at my laptop.
My supervisor hasn't pinged me yet, which is a godsend and I take a nice little breather before turning the TV on at low volume as I open up my reporting system to start the mundane routine of statistics pulling and data gathering.
It's not long before I notice the blue ribbon flying across the bottom of the screen on the TV.
It says for parents to please remain calm until the school officials and police can contact them and I turn the sound up a little.
Another tragic school shooting and my heart sinks.
I cannot stand thinking anyone could ever willingly hurt a child and it seems like I've heard way too many stories like this one lately. My husband constantly tells me I watch too much news but I can't help it, it's an addiction.
The newscast person is talking about the number of deaths this year and I'm thinking, no child deserves to die.
No matter how annoyingly persistent they are about what shoes they want to wear.
I smiled again to myself thinking of how absolutely adorable Hallie was when she sang songs and didn't know the actual words and made up her own.
Then the reporter on site shows a wide camera shot of the school and I do a double take...and my world stops for a moment.
It's Hallie's day care.
The familiar "ping" from my computer screen sounds but I ignore it as I pay closer attention to what the man is saying on my TV.
"The man, who apparently was agitated with the school over a disagreement, followed another parent in and opened fire on the first classroom he came to."
My hand flies to my chest as my heart sinks a little, then the phone rings and I don't answer it. I don't want to answer it.
"Nineteen children were in the classroom at the time of the shooting…."
No, no…please no.
"There were no survivors and the man shot and killed himself as he exited the building…"
I just left her.
My legs feel numb now and I can't see right. The picture is blurry and I'm shaking.
My hand is covering my mouth and my face is wet.
The phone rings again and I know.
I just know.
I pick it up but I can't speak.
I can't breathe.
It's the school.
Kate. She's the director of the daycare, of course she'd call.
I put the phone down and sit back down on the couch absentmindedly and I just stare.
I stare at the floor and it's scuff marks and magic marker dots that I am continually telling Hallie not to make and I can't breathe.
I glance out of the back sliding glass door at the pool there, and the little shoes sitting there that weren't dry yet and I feel my chest convulsing.
And I just stare again.
Because there's nothing else I can do.
And before I know it, it's at least an hour later and I'm still staring at the floor. My insides feel like they will burn me from the inside out and my hands feel like if I try to move them, they'll break off.
Like I'll break.
Into a million tiny pieces.
"Morning," he says as he walks down the stairs, ruffling his bed hair, scratching his belly and his word. His simple word, creates wetness in my eyes and my lips are shaking.
"Hey, you okay?" he sits down next to me on the couch and I feel nothing even though I see his hand on top of mine.
I feel nothing.
I can't even say it.
And the phone rings again.
"I'll get it."
I open my mouth to let the air in but it does no good.
"Hello?" I hear him say and then there's silence. I can't even look at him.
The doorbells rings for what felt like the tenth time in as many minutes and I hear him on the phone.
"What are you talking about, Kate? She's…hold on."
I hear broken pieces of conversations.
I hear Edward and his voice sounds like my heart.
My eyes see the pile of papers I'd scolded her for the night before. The ones that were not put away. And the markers that didn't have caps on them, and the scissors she'd cut her own hair with. Twice. And I want to die.
He's back on the couch with me and the police are gone and he's holding me but I don't feel it. I don't feel his arms around me or his tears against my face or his heart breaking.
He's telling me he loves me and that we'll get through this but I don't believe him, his words sound hollow and false and I don't want any part of them, I just want my baby in my arms again and I want to tell her I'm sorry for rushing her this morning and for yelling at her and making her feel like I didn't have time to tie her FUCKING shoes for her.
I don't want to be here.
I want her. I want her back.
But she's gone.
And so am I.