A LONGING . . .

“ bella! ” sun shifts forward, abundantly shining upon the girl — cheeks widening the minute he lays his soft brown eyes upon her. “ what's up? it's nice to see you. ” @delightedends.

❝    Jake.    Hi.    ❞  There  is  more  sweetness  in  these  single  syllables  than  I  have  emoted  in  probably  too  long.    Even  my  cheeks  are  round  with  it,    a  smile  on  my  face  before  I  can  think  to  stifle  it.    With  Jacob,    I  never  can  manage  to  though.    ❝    Nice  to  see  you,    too.    Would  you  believe  me  if  I  said  I  was  in  the  neighborhood?    ❞

she scoffs, brushing the brunette's sarcasm off with a flick of her corn silk hair. “ things will get better. promise. ” her diction is sincere as always. but the not so transparent façade stares back at her like a reflection. if bad luck is her closest companion, then it's her secret lover; sticking to the roof of her mouth like hardened toffee, sickly sweet and slowly rotting. “ don't even say that. you're stuck with me, bella. that's what friends are for [...] but seriously, when's the last time you showered? or had coffee? ”

So  much  for  misery  loves  company.    Elena’s  optimism  is  back  and  I’m  sinking  away  from  it,    opposites  of  two  magnets  pushing  apart.    But  Elena’s  pull  is  stronger  than  mine  because  she’s  forcing  my  hand.    ❝    I  shower.    ❞  Like  five  days  ago.    Must  be  all  that  depression.    And  also  the  three  papers  I  have  due  in  less  than  a  week.    ❝    Coffee.  .  .    ❞  I  know  my  eyes  go  a  little  glazed  because  I’m  picturing  pour  over  like  it’s  some  kind  of  aphrodesiac.    ❝    Well,    when  you  put  it  like  that.  .  .    Can  you  give  me,    like.    Ten?    Since  I  should.    ❞  I  gesture  at  my  greasy  roots.

“ god, all this doom and gloom talk is going to give you serious, actual wrinkles, bella –– you're aging by decades worrying yourself over this.  ” she stands suddenly, an action deliberately slowed down so as not to be too overwhelmingly inhuman. many of her gestures, she finds, are now instinctively orchestrated to be more comprehensible. even in private, she's found herself acting as if she still possesses the need to breathe or blink; she's grown so used to bella's presence, so attuned to the intricate habits those with beating, live hearts practiced. she liked it, oddly. it had become almost ... comforting. or maybe relaxing was the word. whatever it was, she attributed the calmness of it all to the girl now sitting below her, and that fact made their friendship (sisterhood, she'd eagerly correct!) all the more precious. “ so, then, what do you want? ” her tone's a little accusatory, a furious quirk to her brows as she bears her gaze down upon bella. “ would it make you happier if i was mad at you? for being breakable? i mean, my god, bella, i'm not a monster. the only one who isn't resigned to it is –– ” she shakes her head, gesture paired with a rolling of her eyes and an exasperated softening of her features. “ she'll be fine. she's just a bit of a crab. everyone in this family is so overdramatic. ”

Alice  knows  what  I  want.    She  also  knows  that  it’s  practically  an  inevitability.    Because  it’s  either  that  or  I’m  dead.    And  honestly  I’d  prefer  not  to  die,    but  if  it’s  between  being  with  them  forever  and.  .  .    God.    These  morbid  thoughts  are  in  part  why  I  keep  getting  myself  in  trouble.    I’m  almost  afraid  Alice  can  read  my  thoughts  and  I  turn  away  from  her  as  if  the  movement  could  shield  those  prying,    scary  eyes.    ❝    No,    ❞  I  mumble,    picking  at  a  string  on  my  sleeve.    I  know  I’m  being  a  child  about  this.    It’s  just  that  I’m  tired  of  this  spiel.    And  I’m  tired  of  all  the  arguing  over  it,    too.    Why  does  it  have  to  be  an  argument  at  all?    ❝    Maybe  you  should  all  stop  being  overdramatic  and  just  face  the  music.    You’re  the–  The  composer.    Or  whatever.    D - don’t  you  guys,    I  don’t  know.    Talk  about  it?    Or  whatever  it  is  you  and  Edward  do.    ❞  I’m  looking  at  her  again,    a  little  bit  pleading  with  her.    ❝    Alice.    It’s  my  choice.    It  should  be.    All  of  this  would  be  so  much  easier  if  I  was  just–  ❞  A  gesture.    I  fumble  the  words,    but  I  know  she  gets  it.    ❝    You  guys  wouldn’t  have  to  worry  and  I  wouldn’t  have  to  worry  and,    in  the  end,    wouldn’t  everyone  just  be–  Fine?    ❞

“ you're it ? don't tell me you're it . ” it wasn't a tough sell , travelling . being away from home [ what home ? the girls have fled the nest , making what's become comfortable null and void ] for long stretches , lending a seasoned ear and not totally fried mind where he can . the coffee might be sludge more often than not , but hey : at least he gets to help broaden the minds of the writers of tomorrow . “ ---- yeah , you're definitely it . ” / @delightedends

Oh,    God.    He’s  one  of  those.    I  haven’t  even  been  in  his  presence  a  handful  of  seconds  and  I’m  regretting  it.    And  I  was  excited  to  come  to  this.    That’s  an  emotion  that’s  hard  for  me  to  feel!    Just  behind  the  frustration  and  the  annoyance  comes  disappointment.    It  rears  its  head  and  sinks  my  stomach  with  a  heavy  tip  into  the  center  of  me.    I’m  frowning.    And  I’m  definitely  not  going  to  sit  down.    ❝    Just  what  any  girl  wants  to  hear.  .  .    ❞  My  eyes  are  looking  back  for  the  exit,    gauging  if  it’s  worth  getting  a  soda  before  I  take  off.    ❝    Used  to.  .  .  what?    Don’t  tell  me  it’s  a  sexist  thing.    ❞

you brace yourself as @delightedends announces that 'i've been sleeping with the lights on' : oh! how she affronts her bustling life in your face as you dwindle in the corner with the rest of them. it mustn't be easy for her, you think. living and breathing. it takes you a minute to recuperate a response but you don't know what to say. not speechless, just quiet. maybe it isn't worth talking about ... so you respond in grains of discomfort in your snarky little way. thick, platinum hair gushes in the forks breeze and you look to your right to meet her soft gaze. pretty little doe, she is. ❛❛ clearly not enough to get rid of those hideous eyebags. what, nightmares really that bad? ❜❜

It’s  not  like  I  expected  Rosalie  to  coddle  me.    If  anything,    I  came  to  her  knowing  all  too  well  that  there  would  be  no  pity  found.    Still.    It  rubs  me  a  little  wrong  that  she  has  to  go  for  vanity  as  if  anyone  could  ever  compare  when  stood  in  a  room  with  her.    I  give  her  my  best  scowl,    something  mean  and  ugly  because  I  think  she  will  appreciate  the  contrast.    ❝    I  knew  I  could  count  on  you.    ❞  The  sarcasm  tastes  bitter.    But  I  find  myself  smiling.    She  probably  didn’t  mean  for  it  to  happen;    it’s  just  that  everything  about  this  is  kind  of  ridiculous  and  I  can’t  help  it.    ❝    Yeah.    Yeah,    they’re,    ah.    Pretty  awful.    Wish  I  didn’t  have  to  sleep.    Is  that  something  you  miss?    Sleep?    Dreaming?    Or  nightmares,    in  my  case.  .  .    ❞