Every Little Thing

Chapter Thirty-One

  I feel sunlight on my face before anything else, so I turn over before noticing the bed I’m in is not a familiar one. I bolt up to sit upright and check where I am. It’s a room, a bedroom and it’s beautiful. I look around to try and gauge where I am and it all floods back to me; Eric, the bonfire, how I feel asleep beside it. I ran my hand through my hair and notice I’m still in the clothes I wore the night before. I then look around the room and notice that I’m alone. 

            I hop up and plod down the staircase and walk into the living room to find a sleeping Eric on the couch. His hair is sprawled out on the pillows and his face is relaxed and breathtakingly handsome. I sit down beside his sleeping form and take him in. Nothing has changed about him when he sleeps since the last day I woke up beside him. My body screams at me to run my fingertips down the curve of his nose and brush them over the softness of his lips that I’ve forgotten about; but I know that I can’t. I can’t be looking at him the way that I am right now and remembering all the times I woke up to him like this. But there’s something about his sleeping form; the way it’s such a vulnerable state for him to be in, as he was before the accident. I could have mistreated the kind of love he gave me then, but I didn’t. When I used to wake up beside him like this, we were in such a love that I couldn’t tell you where he started and I began, but that’s how I wanted it. His relaxed face and closed eyes made a floodgate of memories open in my mind and my chest tightened at the thought of them; how he held me close, but with a gentle passion and how his lips grazed my skin, trying to show me how he’ll love me. How he’d whisper in my ear words of promises that made my heart melt. 

            “Stop it, you’re not falling back into this again,” I mumble to myself before getting up off the floor and walking to the door. I look back at him once before making my way into the kitchen. I start making pancakes and half an hour later, I’ve only managed to make two. 

            “You didn’t practice while I was away, did you?" he asks from the doorway, with sleep in his voice and a smirk on his face. I get a ripple of nostalgia from his words, since he said the exact someone’s he used the day we were making pancakes when he came home from Texas. 

            “It’s hard okay?!" I say, frustrated, and I throw the pan into the sink. I don’t know if I’m frustrated with my lack of cooking skills or my inability to shake all these feelings and memories away. 

            “Don’t get mad, I was only teasing you," he says in a monotone voice that makes me more irritated. 

            “No, Eric. You know what? I shouldn’t have come back here. I’m sorry, but… I thought it would help; I thought I’d get closure, seeing how you’ve moved on, but it’s not. I’m falling back into a hole that I don’t think I can dig myself out of again. I’m sorry, I just can’t. I need to go," I say averting my gaze to the wall instead of him. 

            “You obviously came back for a reason," he says after a few moments of silence. “Can you imagine yourself here, with me?" he asks, and I throw my hands up and start to walk away. “No, just hear me out, okay? Just listen. Close your eyes, please; just for a moment," he says as he follows me into the living room. 

            “What are you playing at, Eric?" I ask, irritated, and he gives me an almost begging look before I cave in and close my eyes. 

            “Can you see it if Mason wasn’t in the picture and life was a little different? If I wasn’t such a stupid, immature teenager, and you had picked me? I know you can. You can see us in this house together. That ring on your finger would have been given to you by me, not him," he says softly, and I lose it. 

            “No, Eric, no! I thought you had let this go already! Just let me be happy!" I scream. 

            “But you’re not really happy with him; I can see it!" He raises his voice for this first time since I arrived. “Your eyes aren’t sparkling anymore; they’re dull, damn it! Your smile; you don’t even show your gorgeous teeth anymore. I could bet my life that last night was the first time that you really laughed and got drunk because you could; not because you had to loosen up and socialize at some dinner.

            “You’re in love with the idea of him, Bree; you and I both know it!" he finishes, and I can’t take it anymore. I breakdown into tears and sobs wrack my body. He quickly holds me in his arms as my eyes are drowning in tears. He gently kisses away every one that falls and I look into his eyes. 

            “I can’t, Eric… I just can’t," my voice cracks at the mention of his name. I look up and notice that his lips are inches away from mine. 

            “You can’t, or you won’t, Bree?" he whispers. Without consent from my brain, my hand moves up and I trace his jawbone slowly before I running my fingers over his lips. I close my eyes and lean my forehead on his.

            “I’m getting married, Eric," I whisper. I hear him swallowing an obvious lump in his throat. “I’m going to spend the rest of my life with him," I say again, as our bodies mold together. “I’m going to be his wife,” I whisper as he laces our fingers together and kisses my knuckles. 

            “Is it a real love? Have you both ever had a fight; a real one where you get so mad but he kisses you and everything’s forgiven in an instant?" he questions quietly. “Does he make time for you and put you first, or are you just a trophy for his family and friends?" he continues. “When you two lie in bed at night, have you ever stayed awake to think what would happen if life was different?" 

            He’s getting into my head; I can feel myself caving into him. He’s got me in such a corrupted state of mind and I can’t breathe.

            “I’m sorry, Eric. I just can’t," I say before I pull away. Without a second glance, I slam the front door behind me.