We were so happy, and I couldn't have been happier. He was the only thing keeping from falling to pieces when my parents died, and now, here I am utterly heartbroken. The days go by slowly, as if the universe wishes for my fate to go by slowly, so that I can catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror every morning, knowing that my Edward has left, again. But this time, with another woman. How could one to that to someone they once loved, pack up and just head out, leaving me to contemplate life's difficulties myself. Now I was alone in the world. Well, I had my cat.
The day was so close to beginning. It was four in the morning. I don't even see the reason why I attempt sleep anymore. The bed sinks in on my side because Edward is not here to even it out. I never knew how his weight could even make an impact on my life so much. I peered to the clock, the red numbers reminding me of the poisoned blood that led to the broken heart that I bare. The thing about love is that it can leave you, no matter what you do or how hard you try. Now, I am left alone.
I got up, not very sleepy, but still looking like a mess. I pass my unfinished paintings on my way to my bathroom. I haven't painted anything since he left, and I don't think I plan to anytime soon. After my parent's died, Edward was the only inspiration I had, because he brought the happiness back into my cold, dark corners, and illuminated them and filled them with warmth. I stood in front of my mirror, just staring. Edward's shaving cream and razor were not there, nor was the cologne he kept in the bathroom. The "his" towel was missing, as cliché as it was, and his dirty pajamas still lay in the hamper. It was his favorite pair. I turned, as I caught site of the black, silk, long pajama pants. Anger filled me. I was relieved that I could feel anger after such heartbreak towards Edward. My mother had always told me that the next step to recovering was being able to stop crying and to just be angry with the situation. But that was my mother for you. Secretly, you hated yourself for not being good enough, not necessarily him leaving.
But the realization didn't keep me from digging through the hamper and puling out the silk reminder. I padded through my window and into the living room of my second to top floor apartment and through the parcel out the window. It fluttered down onto the cold streets of Toronto. This was seriously sucking at the moment. I felt a tiny bit of closure at the sight of the last reminder I had of Edward being trampled over by the feet of strangers. Turning around, my cat stared at me. "Don't look at me like that," I ordered. He mewed and turned away. "I can make it through this," I called after him. I was going insane, talking to my cat in full sentences now.
I showered and dressed in my worst clothes. I gathered my paint supplies and I sat down at my easel. The soft serene painting I had begun that I promised myself would be about my love for him, was not transformed from soft blues and purples to blacks and reds. The anger I held was the inspiration for this one and I had the urge to just take the scissors and gash the painting to shreds. Instead, saving the hard work I had taken from my soul, I painted a large, bloody-colored gash in the middle of the easel. I stood back to admire my work. Swirls and globs of paint arranged in the perfect organization representing heartache, betrayal, and demise reflected back to me. This was one reflection I could live with.
Now, my heart racing in anger, I got up, leaving my painting to dry and I left to my room, a million thoughts racing through my mind. How dare he just leave me, again! And how dare he leave me for another woman! I gave him everything! Everything he ever asked of me and without complaint and he just leaves! Oooh, that bastard! Luckily for my anger, Edward left half of his clothes here. He was flying to Seattle to be with his beloved Tanya, and now I was stuck in Toronto, Canada with all of his belongings. Guess what I'm going to do now?
After practically running to the dresser and wardrobe, I took two whole handfuls of his clothes. I took them to the bathtub in the bathroom, took the bleach I kept, and bleached his clothes. After that, knowing my painting clothes were already ruined, I took the clothes in the bathtub out and made my way to the same window. Without even looking I threw them out of the window. I was probably going to be reported for littering or something, but did I care? No. I had plenty of money in the account to last me for years, and when I sold this painting I just made, I would have even more. Take your current state, I always say, and turn it into inspiration.
It took about three trips to get all of his clothes out of the dresser, the wardrobe, and the closet. After the workout it gave me, I just wanted to crash on the couch. But knowing it would bleach it, I instead went to the bathroom to shower the bleach off of me so when I changed the new clothes wouldn't get bleached. I dressed in white clothes afterward just to be sure and then I crashed on my couch.
I wasn't sure why I felt the need to destroy his clothes and he most likely would sue me. Once again, I think I can handle it. The idea of taking something of his and obliterating it gave me certain since that I was obliterating him. And I loved it. But half of me hated the idea as well. I still wanted Edward's memory. Damn, I still wanted Edward, but it seems as if I won't have either now. I could have jumped off of a building at the thought of still wanting him, at the thought of crying about him.
There was a knock on the door. What perfect timing. I dried my eyes and I got up, shaking my head so my hair would fall around me, hiding my face. Maybe they would think that since I got out of the shower I slipped and fell or something, causing me to cry. Okay, even though I can see that happening that would be even more pathetic. I opened the door. "Package for Ms. Swan?" the boy said holding out a brown, packaged box with a clipboard perched atop of it.
"Oh, um, yes, that's me." I smiled shyly.
"Thank you," he said after I signed.
It all happened too fast. I felt a little fuzzy object pass my leg and then I saw a little white fur ball run to the stairs and up. "Sparta!" I yelled after him. I shoved the package in the man's chest and ran after my cat. My cat was the only thing I had at the moment, and I've had her for four years. Plus I loved her. Which is why I chased her up two flights of stairs?
My patience was pushed over the edge when I noticed that the door to the roof was cracked and then shot little Sparta, running to the edge. Did I have a suicidal cat? Because there he sat, at the edge of the building next to mine. In fear of him falling, I called, "Here kitty, kitty, kitty," I beckoned him with my fingers.
He stared at me like I was stupid, his eyes just saying, "Fuck you, come to me!" Like all cats do.
I had no choice. Steadily, and slowly, I placed one foot against the ledge, and then my hand on top of the edge. Slowly and dangerously, I leant over, holding my hand out to my cat. The building was only two feet away, but I was three feet away considering the building ledge was three feet thick. "Come on," I beckoned, "Come on….." Sparta did not budge. So, I stood up and sat on the ledge, straddling it. (It hurt the bottom of my thighs) "Kitty, kitty," the little fur ball looked at me like I was crazy, which I probably was.
"Wait No!" I heard.
I jumped, and in doing so, losing my balance in the process, and I almost was sent falling of the edge. "Ah!"
I waited for my death, but instead two strong arms wrapped around my waist, and pulled me off of the ledge. We were both sent tumbling onto the gravel of the rooftop. I heard a grunt and realized that I was on top of my savior. I would have gotten up, but everything went dark, my eyes couldn't help but close and my head became very, very heavy.
"Miss, Miss!" he yelled.