A Thing Called Love
Disclaimer: Twilight, not mine. Done.
The light in the kitchen is on. I know I shouldn't go in there. Everything tells me to ignore it. Fuck it, go to bed. You're drunk, you're tired, and you're just not up to it.
Logically that makes sense, but I don't care.
I am a bit buzzed. I haven't seen her all day and sometimes, I like just pissing her off. It eases my anger. It makes me feel a little bit better.
I walk into the kitchen.
She's sitting down on our rickety excuse for a table. Card bored is stuffed under a leg so it doesn't wobble and it's so tiny that we barely fit two plates on it. It doesn't matter, it's not like we eat together anymore anyway.
She's drinking coffee, I think. Her pale hand wrapped around the white cup and she stares into it. She's still wearing her uniform and for a minute I wonder when she got home, then I decide I don't really care.
I can see there's still coffee in the pot and walk over. We don't talk. I open cabinets to look for a fucking glass. I finally find one and pour the coffee into it.
It's still warm. That surprises me.
"You can stand to wash a dish," she finally says. I turn around, taking a sip of the bitter drink.
I look toward the sink. It's full with dishes. Probably all that we own.
"So can you," I shoot back. She sighs heavily, like she's too tired to go on.
"I work," she says.
I know she doesn't mean it to be offensive, I know she's simply stating a fact, but I'm angered.
"How's that feel?"
"I didn't—" She stops. She simply shakes her head and doesn't continue.
"You're home late," she says. I'm staring at the back of her head. She doesn't turn around to face me.
"Am I?" I sound like an ass. I know.
"Where were you?" she asks. She doesn't even sound angry, just tired.
It's quiet between us again. You can hear the water run through the pipes. She gets up and places her mug in the already full sink. She smells a bit like perfume and grease.
"Leave them there. I'll do them in the morning," she says and walks out the kitchen. I can hear the water running from the bathroom. With a heavy sigh I throw my glass in the sink like a two-year-old throwing a tantrum.
Glass shatters and I know something broke.
"Fuck!" I curse.
I roll up my sleeves and begin on the dishes.
It's not until later, when I'm lying stiffly by her side, that I realize I didn't once look into her eyes.
Two nights later, I make dinner. It's not much, because we don't have much food in the house.
It's just plain white rice and chicken. The two easiest things to make. When she comes home the food is done and resting on the stove. I'm filling out application on our table.
She steps into the kitchen and goes straight to the already made coffee pot.
"I made dinner," I state, not looking up.
"I'm not hungry."
I lift my head and stare at her.
"What did you eat?"
"I had a plate at work. Mike said it was free tonight," she says.
"You could have called. I wouldn't have cooked."
"I didn't know you cooked. Jesus, lay off," she says, finally snapping.
"If I pulled shit like this with you, you'd have my balls," I snap back.
"You always pull shit like this. It's not a big deal, we'll eat it tomorrow," She yells.
I realize this fight is stupid. I realize there's nothing to fight about. She's right, we'll eat it tomorrow, but I'm already pissed.
"Do what the fuck you want, I don't care," I shout and pick up my papers.
"Where are you going!" she shouts.
"Library," I say back. I don't turn around. Just walk out.
As I leave the kitchen I hear her frustrated scream and a loud clang.
So much for leftovers.
It wasn't always like this. We used to be happy. We used to be head over heels in love.
She was my world and I would die for her. She was everything and I never wanted to lose her. That same feeling brought me down on one knee and asked her to be mine forever.
Now it seems like this emotion is keeping me trapped in a prison I don't want to be in.
Sometimes when she's fallen asleep and unconsciously rolled over to my side, I pretend we're happy again. I pretend she doesn't regret being with me.
I pretend she's still the care free girl I gave my heart too.
Sometimes I pull her close and bury my nose in her hair, because she smells like strawberries and it brings back memories.
Memories from when we spent the summers together. When we walked down the road with our hands entwined. We had nowhere to go and we were in no rush. We'd plop down in a grassy spot and read together, or we'd just talk.
We were young and naïve and believed in a thing called love.
Then I was leaving to a bigger city across the country and she was crying and begging me to stay. I was begging her to come and she did.
She gave up everyone and everything she knew for me, and it was okay. I was going to make her happy. I was going to be everything she needed.
But that was then and this is now. The sun comes and the spell breaks and she's back to being in a bitchy mood and I'm back to being an ass.
We'll say five words to each other (on good days) or we'll fight with each other (on bad days).
Nothing changes and that's what really breaks my heart.
The door slams close and I'm startled from my sleep. My head is dizzy and I struggle to get my bearings.
My neck hurts. I fell asleep on the couch.
The living room is illuminated in blue from the television. Paid programming.
I sit up slowly and watch her take off her shoes in the front.
It's one in the morning. Her shift ends at eleven. I'm pissed.
"Where the fuck were you?" I ask, because I had worried.
"Out." She's using my words against me. I deserve it. I know, but it pisses me off nonetheless. I sit up a little straighter and rub the sleep from my eyes.
She's taking off her jacket and hanging it up.
She walks pass me and into the kitchen. I get up and follow.
"You're not my father, Edward!"
"No, I'm your husband!" I shout back. It's the argument.
I can end it right now. I can walk out and slam the bedroom door. I can drop it and ignore it.
I can do that because it would be the easier option. But I'm done running. I just want to yell and have her yell back and I want to feel something more than this numb.
"I can't go out? I had a long day's work. I think I deserve it!"
"It's not much to pick up a phone and let me know!"
"You're not my god damn father!" she screams.
"Dammit, Bella! You had me worried!" I shout back. She ignores me and begins rummaging through the cupboards.
"How do you think you make me feel?"
"That's not the same!"
"The hell it isn't!"
"What the fuck is your problem?" It's a loaded question. I know it is. I ask it anyway. She slams the door and I swear it sounds like the wood might just crack. She pivots around and glares at me.
"I work! I work hard and I deserve to have a night to myself. I don't need you on my ass!"
"I didn't ask to be fired, Bella! I didn't want this!"
"I KNOW you didn't! I KNOW!" she screams, grabbing at her hair and leaning back against the counter.
"I'm not just sitting on my ass every day!" I shout back.
"You could have fooled me!"
"What the fuck do you want from me? I honestly don't know what to do anymore!"
"I want to get out of this shit-hole of apartment. I want to be more than a crummy ass waitress. I want to be able to go to the stores and buy something simply because I WANT too. I want a FUCKING LIFE!"
"What's stopping you from having one?"
It's silence. She's tearing up and she buries her head in her hands. Her words hurt, more than I imagined.
"Not anymore." I don't shout it. I simply say it. I'm done fighting.
I turn to walk out.
"Don't. Don't leave because you heard something you didn't like. Stop running. Talk!" she says through her tears.
"There's nothing to talk about. You're life is hard, bitch all you want. I'll just be one less problem," I say and grab my jacket from the hooks. She follows me out to the living room.
"If you leave, I might not be here when you get back."
It's a threat. It's supposed to scare me.
I might not ever tell her how much it does. But I'm a selfish bastard.
"I might not come back."
The door slams behind me.
She's not Bella, that's the first hazy thought I can think of.
She's pretty. I mean fuck, she is. Long legs, tan skin, decent rack.
She smells nice and she's leaning close and giggling over things that aren't funny. She flapping her eyelashes and there's long and her eyes are blue and shiny. She's wearing a lot of make-up. I wonder what she looks like underneath.
Someone else completely, I'm sure.
"I'm married," I finally say, after a half hour of talking. She's doesn't bat an eye.
"Lucky girl. What are you doing here then?" she asks and her voice is suddenly different. It's not the bubbly one she was using a minute ago. It's lower and gravelly and I realize she's trying to be seductive.
Well not trying, because she is, just not for me.
I don't answer. I just grab my beer and stare at the label.
"Does she not appreciate you," the women says, I don't remember what her name is.
Janet? Jane? Jessica? Fuck, I don't care.
She scoots closer and places her manicured hand on my bicep. Her bare thigh is creating heat next to mine and her floral scent is all around me.
My body reacts, just a little, but I'm a man. I can't help it.
I can however decide. I can decide to give in to it.
I can do it. I can use tonight to forget all about Bella. I can have a quick fuck. No ties. It can be done.
But it won't be. I place a bill on the bar and step off my stool, pulling away from the women. She smiles, with the wrong idea.
"I'm going home," I tell her. Although I don't have to. Her smile slowly fades. She's not used to being rejected. Modesty is something she can learn.
I walk out and start heading home. My head is foggy and I stumble a few times. It's raining a lot. It messes with my vision and soaks me to the bone.
When I finally make it home, I'm afraid to open the door.
What if she isn't there? What if she left?
She should leave. I treat her like shit and Bella, she deserves the world. I know this. I knew from the first day I met her that I wasn't good enough for her, but I was determine to change. To become good enough. What a load of shit that was.
Finally I can't stand not knowing anymore. I open the door.
Everything is dark and my heart stops. Only there's a glow coming from the kitchen. I walk in, my clothes making a sloshing sound.
She's sitting at the kitchen table with a wine glass in her hand. She stares at the candle in the middle of the table.
"Lights went out," she says casually. Like we never fought. Like I'm coming home from work. Like before.
"Oh," I say and sit in the chair opposite of her.
"Thought you weren't coming back."
"Thought you weren't going to be home."
I see her lips twitch in a small smile and I smile too. We act as though we wanted it to happen, but deep down it was scaring us. The relief that she's sitting right in front of me makes me giddy.
"So, I thought I might go visit my mom for a bit. Maybe we just need… to cool down," she whispers.
It's quiet. Her words register.
"I think it'd be—"
"If you would ju—"
"NO! You're not going!" I shout and slam my hand down on the table. It rocks. The candle wobbles. She jumps.
"I want this to work! I'm trying to fix things!"
"You're wrong. You leave, Bella, and you won't be coming back. Leaving isn't going to fix anything!" I hate the idea. It strikes me to the core. I can't fathom the idea of not seeing her every day. It scares the shit out of me.
"I just…" she stops. She drops her head and looks down at her glass.
"Don't give up on us," I whisper and the words come out choked. I don't look at her. I hear her chair scrape across the floor and begin to think she's walking out again.
She doesn't. She pushes my chair out and straddles my lap. We don't really fit in this chair, but it's a technicality we don't explore.
She lowers her mouth on mine and softly lets her lips play with mine. I feel like crying because I can't remember the last time she really kissed me.
I bring her closer and close my mouth over hers. The soft kiss turns hungry and soon we're breathless and panting into each other's mouth. She grinds against my lap and I moan because the friction feels good.
She's clawing onto my clothes and writhing and the kiss is getting deeper. I stand up abruptly and she wraps her pale legs around me and we're walking.
Bumping into walls and stopping a moment just to kiss, suck, bite, taste, anything.
I drop her on the bed. She bites her lips and looks insecure. I don't give her time to dwell in her thoughts. I'm crawling on top of her and kissing her neck, her jaw, her cheek. Her lips.
She's so different than the women from the bar. Her sexiness isn't found in her confidence, but in the way she blushes or the small light in her eyes when she laughs. She's beautiful when she doubts herself and breathtaking when she's sure of herself.
She exactly what I want and I have her. Clothes come off our bodies. Hers are taken off easily and fall with a light swoosh, while mine are peeled off and land with a plop. She giggles, she likes that I'm wet.
I shut her up when I claim her mouth.
I kiss all the skin exposed to me. Her collar bone, her shoulders, her perfect breast.
Everything is mine for the taking and I don't take it for advantage. She's in heavenly torture, I can tell. Then I can't wait anymore and I push into her.
We verbalize our pleasure. It's been too long. She feels too good and I don't want to move because this is perfection. I don't want it to end.
But I do move. It's soft and slow. I continue to breathe into skin and suck on her neck. She's mine forever and more. Her nails dig into my back and I hold tightly onto her hips.
In the morning we'll have bruises. We'll be sore, but I don't care. It's not morning. It's right now and she panting into my ear and sounding so damn sexy.
My thrusts speed up and she arches her back, writing and moaning and taking pleasure. Then she buries herself into my neck and breaths heavily and I realize I'm doing the same, because the pleasure capturing her is taking me too.
I'm spent and lying on top of her and whispering words into her ear. She's laughing softly scratching my sweaty head and it feels amazing.
And it kind of feels like everything is going to work out.
The lights don't come back on. We spend the night in complete darkness. The rain continues to go strong, but we're stuck in our own cocoon. We talk and share things we haven't.
So many things I didn't know. So many doubts I could have put to rest.
She admits, she was unhappy, but not with me. What we had become.
I admit that I was scared she would leave me.
She says she thought I was cheating on her.
I say she's stupid and I would never. It's the truth.
I tell her I want to be better for her, I apologize for everything.
She holds me and tells me I am everything she's ever wanted.
It feels like hours we spend talking. We haven't done that. I get to know this new woman in my arms. I get to know her all over again and it's nice.
She tells me that she misses home and I agree. I miss it too. So I say we go home. I came here for the job and they let me go. There's nothing holding us here anymore.
She laughs and says it's crazy to just up and leave. I tell her we've always done crazy things and she agrees.
Then she flips over, hovers above me, and whispers that she loves me.
Because it's this thing called love again. It's bringing us close.
It makes us unhappy and happy again. It traps us and sets us free. It changes us and keeps us the same.
It breaks you and fixes you. It takes you on a journey of completion or destruction.
I know we won't always have it perfect. She knows it too, but we're together. We'll stick through because for all this hell we go through, there are moments like now. Where we're both so completely happy we're glowing. The world could end now and it wouldn't really matter to us.
So it's worth it. It's worth spending time in hell if we could have just a few moments in heaven.
That is what's funny about a thing called love.
It's short and… fluffy? It's sorta based off For the First Time by The Script. It's just a drabble that's been playing throughout my mind for a bit. So if you like it, I would love a review.