All rights belong to their rightful owners!
(I own this plot and the words)
I came up with this idea tonight while listening to Over by Lindsay Lohan. Tell me how you feel; hate it, love it, sobbing, all of it. I wanna hear from you! :)
Edward stands a couple feet away from me. His hands in his pockets, a look of uncertainty flooding his features; he's a mess. He thinks he can just show up out of nowhere. Reappear when a year has gone by. I don't hate him; I hate his actions, his words, his lies. The promises he makes but cannot keep; they fall from his lips and burn me, and my lungs burn when I hold my breath to hold back screaming at him.
"You OK, baby?" Kyle asks from beside me.
I don't answer him. I'm too distracted by the figure that's standing only feet away from me. It's as if I'm frozen; I can't move, can't speak, I can't do anything, including breathe properly (if I'm even breathing that is). All I can do is stare, half in shock and the other half in disbelief. I'm not sure how much time passes, but the person just stares back at me, and I at him.
"Um, hi," he finally says.
His voice makes me flinch, effectively causing me to start snapping out of the daze-like trance he just put me in, and I shake my head slowly, bringing my hands up to cover my nose and mouth.
"No," I say quietly. "No, no, no. . ."
My left hand slams down onto the porch railing and grips it tightly.
"Why," I barely get out. "Why, why, why now?"
He doesn't answer me, but I really didn't expect him to. I begin to walk, each movement of my legs waking me up more and more. Before I know it, I'm standing in front of him, and it's too much. It's all way too much, and I explode with a year's worth of pent up anger, hurt, confusion, and release it onto him.
"YOU BASTARD," I yell, hitting him somewhere on his chest.
He doesn't make a move to stop me, and I continue.
"You prick, you dick, you motherfucker! Why now? Huh? It's been over a year! Why!"
I've stopped hitting him, but I'm still exploding.
"I—I was starting to be OK," I whisper.
I want to cry but they—the tears—just won't come. Maybe it's because I've spent so much time crying over him. So much time spent wondering why he left without a word (to anyone), and if or when he would be back. I always figured he'd come back, but I just didn't know when.
It's late, the middle of the night. I'm outside on Kyle's back porch, staring out at the ocean. My mind is silent, but it's dangerous; there are so many emotions running through me that I don't know what to think or do. I jump when I hear the door open and then close, and I just know who it is. He steps up beside me, but somehow manages to keep his distance. Kyle, against his better judgment because I told him to, allowed him to stay the night. Kyle fought me on it, but I ultimately won, telling him that I needed and deserved answers—which I do.
"How are you?" he asks, breaking the proverbial ice.
His voice sounds foreign to me, not having heard it in a little over a year, except for earlier when he surprised me. I look down and lean my arms against the white wooden railing.
"I . . . I don't know," I answer honestly.
Even though I'm not looking right at him, I still see him nod in response. I take a breath, and it's funny, because although I'm still so very pissed off, hurt and angry at him, it feels as if I can fucking breathe again now that he's back. It's pathetic but true.
"I have so many emotions running through me, I don't even know what to feel," I say quietly. "I feel like I can breathe again, though. Pathetic, I know." I roll my eyes at myself.
I probably shouldn't be opening up to him like this, or at all really, but he's back (for however long), and just like I need and deserve answers, he needs and deserves to know how much I went through this past year when he fucking took off without warning or goodbye. Fuck the saying of just smile and act like they never hurt you; he should know what his actions do to people—people he says he supposedly loves and cares so much about.
"I've missed you," I admit. "And I never stopped loving you as a friend, or caring."
He leans his ass against the railing.
"Really?" he asks.
"I never stopped loving you as a friend either," he tells me. "I couldn't, especially after everything you've done for me."
I bite my lip and hold back what I want to say.
"You meant a lot to me," I say. "You still do to be honest. You wanna know how you can tell when you mean something to someone?"
"It's when they're willing to look past everything you've ever done to them, just so that you're in their life again. Just so that they can call you a friend again. It's when even after you've left, and there's no sign of you returning, they still hope and sometimes pray that you'll return one day, and when you finally do, they're so full of mixed emotions that they freak out, but ultimately they feel as if they can breathe again," I tell him.
We've been talking for almost a week already, and it's flown by.
He told me last night that he wants to try to build some kind of friendship with me again. I told him that I was willing to try, because I honestly missed him too damn much to just let him walk right now.
Tuesday afternoon –
"I need to try to work things out with her at some point," he says during a late lunch.
He's referring to his ex-fiancée, whom he cheated on, which ignited his taking off without a word to anyone.
"I really wouldn't go calling her, or emailing her, or anything," I tell him, frowning. "She's really pissed, hurt, upset still. I don't think she's gonna be answering anyone for awhile; I don't think she wants anything to do with you right now, if ever. She's hurt still, and unlike me who wasn't cheated on, she's pissed."
He sighs and pushes his plate away.
"No, I didn't cheat on you, but I did fuck you over which I'm sure hurt just as much."
I raise my eyebrows, surprised that he just said that.
"I'm sure it does hurt just as much. Listen, yeah you did fuck me over, but I have a heart, and I can forgive. People—many—have fought me so much on this, but I stopped caring what they think a long time ago. It's my life, my fucking choice, and if I decide to include you in it and try to rebuild a friendship, then so be it."
"It's my choice, Kyle," I say, pissed off.
"You're jus' gonna get hurt again! What, him driving you head-on into a fucking deep depression, causing you to cut yourself on and off for over a year wasn't enough?" he yells.
I tell myself he's only doing this, reacting this way, because he loves me and cares. He's the one who was around and saw me at my absolute worst when Edward left, but I can't keep letting others make decisions for me.
"I gotta make my own decisions," I say softly. "I still have more questions, and he's been surprisingly forthcoming with answers."
I wake-up with a headache. I cried myself to sleep last night after coming home from fighting with Kyle. Edward returned just as I was beginning to be OK; just as I started to convince myself to smile again.
Wednesday night – one hour before
"Happy birthday," I tell my best friend (and Edward's ex), Ali.
She grins and thanks me.
"Wanna drink?" she offers.
I shake my head.
"Nah, I'm driving; otherwise I definitely would."
She nods and we hangout for a bit, and then it's time for her gifts.
30 minutes before
"You wanna come over?" Ali asks me as we walk to her awaiting taxi.
I nod, but tell her that I might be a little late tonight. She nods and apologizes for secluding herself; I wave her off, telling her that I understand that her ex coming back threw us both for a loop.
I watch her take off in the cab, and then walk to my own car, and as I get in, my phone rings with Over by Lindsay Lohan—Edward's ringtone for both text and phone calls.
I pull it out as I climb inside, checking it.
Hey, how did it go? –E
I start my car up.
Hi :) Good, we had fun. –B
Fifteen minutes before
I just don't want you to pull the same shit like you did last year, and disappear, only to return a yr & 2 months later, shocking the shit outta both ur ex & I. –B
I pull out of the parking lot of the club.
I don't plan on disappearing again, and I actually hope we won't b saying goodbye anytime soon, but when & if we do, it won't happen like it did last yr. –E
Five minutes before
Thanks for agreeing to not just leave me fucking hanging again. At least gimme the chance to say goodbye. Closure, I believe it's called. –B
I send the text as I wait for the light to change, and he answers immediately.
Of course B & I actually hope we won't be saying goodbye anytime soon. Yes, that's what it's called. I'd let U know b4 I took off again. I love you. :) –E
I reread the text, and I'm smiling, and I don't have time to look up before my car is rammed in the side.
I can hear Over playing somewhere in the distance, but I keep fading in and out. I know that it's Edward, and he's probably wondering why I haven't responded; probably freaking out that he's said love you too soon, even though I was the one to break the ice with that over the weekend. My body hurts, and it hurts to breathe; I think one of my lungs collapsed. I hear noise coming closer; sirens, I think. Kyle flashes through my mind briefly, our fight from last night. But, only one person continues to stay on my mind as I fight not to completely lose consciousness. Edward's face, his voice, his words over this past week ever since he came back fight through the haze in my mind. I realize that I'm losing the battle, and I'll soon be giving into fading away, and I pray to God, apologizing for not having Kyle (my boyfriend, the one who's never left, and has always been there, and who loves me for me) on my mind as I fade away, but it's Edward who's on it instead.
I hear the sirens, they're loud, and a part of me recognizes that they must be here now, but I've started to stop fighting losing war of consciousness. The last thing I hear is Over playing as I drift away, and one of my last thoughts is Please, God, help Edward through this if I die. Watch over my friends. . .
I can't live without you, can't breathe without you, I dream about you honestly, tell me that it's over, because if the world is spinning and I'm still livin', it won't be right if we're not in it together. . .