Ruthless and Ivory (Twilight Fan Fiction)

Chapter 21: Born

Chapter 21 - Born

It is spring.

Birds sing. A fly buzzes around a my room trying to find escape to the outside. The smell of daffodils on the window sill surrounded by white billowing curtains. The breeze is invited to do what it pleases. I am 17.

But it is summer, not even spring. The car window is rolled down and relief. No AC. My eyes close against the air, still too warm. The car goes faster and thank god, a breeze. Something. Working on campus is brutal, yet exciting. Loud bumping speakers vibrate through windows of students still lingering after finals. Exciting because, hell, the parties. Suppressed giggles from the backseat by girls I grouped with in Government Law 101, because even if we're still girls with giddy butterfly filled bellies, we try to act mature. Exciting because, hell, the guys.

It's not quite summer though—the leaves are falling. I'm 23. I'm nervous. I stand, taking a deep breath to shake Harry's hand. My first job. My first real job. I had a degree. I knew what to say. I had every reference letter with nothing but amazing things to say. I pretend, so hard, that I didn't get the job politically because they know me. It's because of my intellect and drive. Definitely my way of speaking. Or even the two year experience working for another newspaper. I wrote obituaries. I sigh. I walkout with a sure job in a stiff skirt suit and I know. I just know it was inevitable. I tried anyway.

But I wanted it to be snowing. Winter, by far my favorite season. Watching the sky turn gray, wishing, hoping, praying it would snow. School would be out. And gosh, so fun. Everything was as it should have been and frenemies played together for just that one day. Nothing mattered more than freedom from the binds of homework and books. Sledding contests down the park hill was top priority.

It was better when I was 10. I wanted to be older and feel just like the senior girls in high school when I was 13. Stupid me. I miss being in my 20's. I don't think I savored it like I should have. I was younger then than now.

Whatever age, memory, or original moment, I was never satisfied.

Foolish of me to want to be someone else and not realizing I was right where I was supposed to at that moment. I should have held it tightly and memorized it all.

I regret it now. Completely.

The glass is frigid against my fingertips tracing the rain drops. A foggy day. Mirroring my soul. I can't feel but the cold is flowing straight to my heart. Does it even continue to beat? I can't feel it. Nothing matters anymore.

The Ivory colored luxury leather creaks beside me. The irony of the color that I hold so dear to my heart surrounds me in a prison. The presence sitting beside me with its power over me besmirches its sentiment. The vast space of the limo is small, threatening, as they watch. Always watching. I sit immobile. Even if I was able, I couldn't run. Where would I go? The will has dissipated along with him. I can't even say his name. It hurts like knives cutting into me again.

Any age or day would be better than this...because today I'm 30 and I watch red roses over my white casket being lowered into the ground. The tombstone sits sure and tall behind many people in black as proof that I was loved. People cared...for me. They mourn my death with red roses in their hands. A hug or a pat on Charlie's shoulder under the wide black umbrella, they say their deepest regrets and condolences. His brown eyes flicker to the black limo just hiding under the drooping tree. Where I sit. Where I hide.

I watch my own funeral from afar because Isabella Swan is no longer alive.

—••—•—•• 3 week ago ••—•—••—