Till Death (Volturi / Twilight Fanfiction)

14: Trying to Move on

Fuck.

It was all his fault. 

It had been months since she saw that man once, once, and then ran off without any way to contact him again. They hadn't even shared any real deep conversations, it was all surface-level bs. Sure he looked gorgeous and had a lovely voice and made Taylor's stomach cartwheel when he smiled. But that's not all it takes. She didn't even know his favorite color! Didn't know a thing about him really. But as comfortable as she was with Callie she couldn't shake that feeling of longing for the man she watched the boats with one Christmas. Marcus, why Marcus? 

Taylor entered her kitchen to a glass of water beside a couple pills on the island. Callie sang softly to a foreign song on the radio as the sun no longer pierced but flowed gently over the passionate mess of her hair. Over the untidy curve of her waist as it swayed with the beat. She was cooking eggs for the two of them, adding cheese and hot sauce swearing that it would cure their hangovers and urging Taylor to drink the whole glass of water. She smiled, dimples pecking her freckled cheeks as she looked over her shoulder to make sure Taylor was drinking her water and to crack a dirty joke. One which nearly made Taylor spit the water back out in laughter. She had so much to do yet to get ready to travel. But right now she was rather content to stand across the island from Callie and enjoy her eggs and toast. 

She was never going to see Marcus again. So, why couldn't she fall for someone so perfect? She really would leave by the end of the day today as Callie's friend. Something that relieved and confused her. Because she did not wish to lead Callie on in any way. But she could not stay hung up on a man she'd never meet again. Taylor's headache only got worse, and she had a feeling that it was no longer due to alcohol consumption. 

*****

Life takes time to appreciate and time is a fickle thing really. It gives itself sparingly in a world that moves so very fast. But when you're dead, with no goals, no deadlines to rush, time is all you have. Though spirits are given time enough, it is not to appreciate life but to long for something they took for granted. It was rare for Taylor to find a content spirit, which is to be expected. Most stay because they regret, because they have business left unfinished. They force upon Taylor the weight of finally understanding what a gift living could be and being unable to experience it any longer. The bittersweet feeling of watching their child marry while no one else knows they're in attendance. The anger of watching their murderer go free. The confusion of change whilst they remain stagnant. The sorrow of watching loved ones mourn and being unable to comfort them. But some felt nothing at all, a weightless emptiness of barely existing. This she felt now, though she wished desperately otherwise. 

He remembered himself well, a sturdy old man with sad eyes and acne scars covered by a thick white beard. He remembered how his hands shook when he held his pipe, and when they held his hand. The feel of the sea breeze as they sailed for shore every day. The taste of butterscotch on his lover's lips every Sunday. A sweet for the sabbath he'd claim, the old man knew better. It was just an excuse to eat the candy, doctor's orders be damned. But doctors order things for a reason. The old man was excited to pass, scared too but excited to see his love again. But after he'd taken his last breath he was alone, unable to find him. He was so sad for such a long time, he was past that now. 

"Do you remember what he was called?" Taylor whispered to the old man standing next to her that no one else could see. She leaned against the hull, seemingly staring to sea. When she spoke the man turned to her slowly, staring at her profile shadow cast by the setting sun. She had tried to ignore him at first but could not relax over the nothing he projected. She was alone, on her way to Italian shore, without a soul to comfort her. The least she thought she could do was to comfort a soul. If only for her own sanity. So, she repeated herself. "What was your lover called?"