Watching Her Chapter 37 - Cinderella

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Chapter 37 - Cinderella - Cinderella
After the Ball, Cinderella is missing her Prince … hoping for him to return to her.

I turn my head to the side and huff when it's only been two minutes since I looked the last time.

Bright red numbers taunt me.

1:21

Thirty-nine more minutes. My skin feels like it's covered with thousands of tiny ants. It makes me want to squirm and kick my legs, but instead I stare at the ceiling, knowing nothing but going outside will relieve the anxiousness coursing through me.

For the first time since Edward showed up, I'm not looking forward to walking out the door and into my building. Oh, I need the escape, that hasn't changed, in fact that sense of urgency seems to grow stronger every day, but tonight … he won't be there. I don't even know how to feel about it either.

I continue to look up, watching the ceiling fan spin almost silently around and around, the steady clank clank as it vibrates back and forth the only sound in the room save for my breathing. Normally I'd have my iPod on, ear buds in, but tonight, I don't want to listen to music. I just want to think … though I'll have more time than I'd like to do just that tonight.

I turn my head, and grunt when only five minutes have passed, but I'm so fidgety I can't stay still a moment longer. Sliding my feet into flip-flops, I grab a hoodie, the notebook and my pen, and slip out of my room. I stop at Mom's door, listening as always, though nothing's any different than before.

The thought is at once comforting and devastating. No change means things stay the same … and no change means nothing stops this endless cycle.

"Love you, Mom," I whisper, knowing that she can't hear me, but hoping that somehow, someway she can still feel it. I kiss the tips of my fingers and brush them across the dark, wooden door before hurrying down the hallway and out the side door.

The second I step outside, it feels different.

I kind of hate it.

Actually, I really hate it.

A lot.

I take a few deep breaths, waiting, hoping that the pull toward Edward settles over me. When there's nothing but a tepid breeze and only the sound of an owl hooting off in the distance, I know he's not out there. Damn it. Still, as I walk inside my building, slower than normal, I can't help but look at my stool, willing a notebook to magically appear.

"Well shit," I mutter when it doesn't and toss my own on the loveseat.

I turn around in a circle, taking a silent inventory. My eyes skirt over my car. I know I'm definitely not in the mood to work on that tonight. Phil will be here in a little less than a week, and he's already mentioned taking a look at it and seeing what else needs to be done, so I'll just save it for then. I could read a book, but I don't really feel like it. To Kill a Mockingbird still lays across the arm from when I was out here before, but Scout and Atticus just aren't doing it for me tonight. I sigh when my gaze rests on my drums. Any other night the urge to play is strong, sometimes the need is so great it's all I can do to not crumple like a balloon that's lost all of its air, but it's not there tonight. His song is on the periphery of my thoughts, and I hear a few notes and combinations, but then they fade away.

It's coming along though … Edward's song.

It was never supposed to be for him, at least it wasn't until he made it his with those drumsticks. It was just something swimming around in my head, but now, it's become his. And for the first time, I've put words to the music. I have no idea what it will be when it's done, only that I want it to be good for him. Secretly, I want to play it with him … but I have no idea, not even a hint of one, of how to even bring something like that up.

I mean really, what do I say? "Hey, Edward, you know that song you heard me play and the one that I sort of, kind of, a little bit, showed you on cookies of all things? Well, I really want to play it with you. Oh, and by the way, I also might have possibly put some words to the music, too. Hope that doesn't sound too crazy."

I miss him.

Right now, in this moment, I miss feeling his eyes on me.

Gotta hand it to the guy though. I giggle a little bit and run my finger around the edge of a cymbal, smiling wider when it shimmies and vibrates, he's definitely not shy about speaking his mind. I turn and see my notebook where I tossed it on the loveseat, and suddenly the only thing I want to do is talk to him. He might not be here, but I know he wants to be.

He was more than a little frantic in his last letter, letting me know when his parents were coming home. It was weird and a tad disconcerting to read him go on and on about trying to come to me when his dad's working at the hospital and arranging which days might work out best, like we're secret lovers planning a rendezvous or something. Um … hello? We haven't even met face to face yet. I could run into him in the store and I wouldn't know him from Adam. Well, that's not entirely true because I know with the utmost certainty that if we were ever within an arm's distance of each other, hell probably even farther than that seeing as how he watches me from at least fifty feet away, that I'd know him anywhere.

I sigh and curl up in the corner pulling the blanket around my shoulders. I open the notebook and trail my fingertips across the paper. I look at our letters next to each other and I can't help but smile a little bit. Our handwriting is so completely different. His is neat, precise, with perfectly spaced letters and words and mine is well … not. Such opposites. I can only hope that the saying of 'opposites attract' is true.

My index finger traces over his words and my heart does this weird thing where it stutter steps and then goes really fast. I want to kiss you, like really kiss you. I sigh. He wants to kiss me. And I want him to, I want it so badly. Just reading the words again and feeling things - foreign and exciting and confusing and a little scary - has me half out of my mind and half wanting to curl up beneath my blanket and hide. I have no idea what to do with everything I'm feeling, and I wish so, so much that Mom could talk to me.

I need her so much.

It's times like this that make me so angry and then so afraid and then feel so alone. I have to close my eyes and wrap my arms around my stomach, rocking back and forth until the crushing pain in my chest subsides, leaving the ache that's a constant presence.

I look out into the night, and I can hear the leaves rustle in the gentle breeze. It's so quiet, and though I'm out here alone, the crinkle of the paper in my lap reminds me that I'm not, not anymore.

Picking up my pen, I begin to write:

Hey, Edward,

You're not here tonight and I can feel it. It's like there's this whole invisible thing that's missing and I never even knew what it was until it was here and now it's gone. 

It's not really a thing though, it's you.

I miss you. 

It's kind of hard to admit that. Well, I suppose it's not since I didn't have any trouble writing the words down, but that's only because I want to tell you everything. It's a little scary how easy that seems to be. I almost feel like I tell you too much.

Can there be such a thing? I worry sometimes that all of this might be too strange or too heavy or just plain not worth it to you and then you'll leave and I'll be alone again. But you've promised me you'll stay and I believe you. You've been here every night when you didn't have to be and I think, like you've said, we won't hide things from each other. 

What are you doing tonight? Were your parents happy to see you? I'm sure they were; a month is a long time. 

I wince a little at that and fight back the bile that burns my throat … not to mention the sudden flare of intense, vibrant green jealousy. Of all people to be jealous of, Edward is most certainly not deserving of it, but I can't help it. He was without his parents for a month, and I've been … well, it's been a lot longer for me.

I know you're worried about what will happen now that they're back, but we both knew it was coming. I smiled a little bit at all your planning and scheming … are you trying to make me into some dirty little secret? I keep hearing that song in my head, you know? I knew, I know, you can't come every night, though I've gotten so used to you being out there that it's weird that you're not … and I really don't even want to think about what that says about me. I mean, how normal is it that I like to be watched? Is it worse to be the watcher or the watchee? And this time, I really don't want you to answer me. 

Phil's coming in a few days, have I told you that yet? (BTW … it gets a little confusing carrying on two different conversations, please tell me you lose track every now and then, too!) I'm nervous about him coming for some reason. It'll be really nice to see him. I do miss him, and I do love him, though it's hard at times. Not hard to love him, because he really is a great guy, and he's not just a guy, but he's not my dad either, you know? It's just a really messed up kind of situation. He's got a daughter to take care of that's not his and his wife's here but not here. I know it's easier for him to be away from us. He's already made his peace and said his goodbyes to Mom … I just can't do it yet. 

Are you getting nervous about ODP camp? You are; I can tell by the tone of your words. Is that weird, that I can feel it when I read your letter? I have to tell you, I'm really looking forward to the day I can say I knew you when, because I have no doubt you'll do great. Will you tell me some more about it so I can feel kind of like I'm sharing it with you? It would be nice to have something to be a part of. 

I yawn and feel my body relax and I know I should go inside. I don't really want to, being outside makes me feel closer to Edward, even if he's not here.

Edward, I hope you're enjoying your time with your parents. You need to, every day. Trust me, I know.

But is it wrong of me to say I can't wait until you come back? 

Bella
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