tumblr [robsten]

nine

forget the panic attack which our hero had had a few days ago! at the moment, his heart was racing like it was going to jump out of his chest. she was gone and it was all his fault. if he hadn't shouted at his mother, if he hadn't started an argument with kristen . . . only if he hadn't.

he rushed to his car, regretting every word, every hurt, every moment and literally searched wood and stone - every place where she could be. the starbucks coffees nearby, the shop for art supplies, the istore . . .

finally he found her. she was exactly there, where he didn't expect her to be - at the grave yard. it was strange how come her parents were from la, yet they were buried in nyc, at the insistence of kristen, who had sat on the bench right in front of the graves of her parents. john and jules stewart was written on the gravestone. her face was buried in her palms. she was shivering. when he walked closer to her, he heard her cries.

he sat next to her and lightly stroke her hair, making her scream from fear.

"shhh," he soothed. "it's okay, it's okay. i'm here."

she looked at him with her tired bloodshot eyes. the spark was in them was gone.

there was a silence. no one dared to say a word, until kristen started the tête-à-tête. she apologized for everything, hoping he would forgive her. why wouldn't he? he had come all the way from upper east side to the end of the town to find her. that showed how much he cared about her. and she would do the same for him.

"it's okay," rob gave her a small smile and apologized too. she smiled back at him. she wasn't mad anymore. kristen's smile dropped, when she saw the fingerprints on rob's cheek. she had hurt him that badly?

she stroke his cheek with her finger tips. her cold skin made the bruise hurt less. he didn't wince at her touch.

"i am so ashamed," she murmured. "i hurt a man. the man who i am in love with-"

he placed his finger on his lips.

"shhhh. quiet, baby girl. quiet."

he placed a nice little kiss on her lips and told her not to regret anything . . .