With each step, my heart beat sped up. I felt the cool metal of my switchblade against my skin, underneath my clothing. Beads of cold perspiration seemed to appear out of nowhere as I neared my old home. Oswald, I thought quietly, please be here.
I cursed myself under my breath, knowing my thoughts were wrong. Oswald had to die... for what he did to Isabella... right? In the back of my head, all I could hear was:
No, no, no. Oswald, Oswald, Oswald. Memories, memories... memories. What a stupid, unintelligent thought process- and it's even worse that all I feel is guilt... and love.
Before I knew it, I was standing in front of my apartment door- a sliding, metal, tempting door. I resisted the urge to knock joyfully in hopes to find the man I love. Instead, I took a deep breath and straightened out my face, and slid the door open- rather loudly. I nearly sprinted inside.
I found myself in the center of our old home. I turned slowly in a circle, taking in all the details and memories as best I could. Nothing had changed- when I went to Arkham, this place had just been... abandoned. With a pang I realized; I'm alone.
I slugged onto my bed, which was folded, as it was left. I buried my face into my hands, not knowing what to feel. I felt something wet against my palms- I had been crying without even realizing it. I slowly brought my feet over the bed sheets and found my way under them. I was drained- both emotionally and physically.
When I leaned my head against the pillow, I heard the crunch of paper. I slid my hand underneath the pillow and felt for... a note? I rushed to pull it out- it was colored dark blue with a tiny purple heart on it.
I tore it open with anxiety and carelessness. In cursive writing, it read;
When you got sent to prison, I made sure that no one did anything to this apartment. In case you ever felt like moving out of the mansion, your old home was always accessible- and still is, although I doubt that's in your interest. I'm glad you came here, at least you care enough to try to encounter me. I imagine you brought a weapon with you, understandable... I hope that it won't come in handy when we do see each other.
Edward... You have two choices. You can sleep restfully here in the bed we once shared, and I will be here when you wake. Or, you may leave.
(Sleep well, you don't deserve restless nights.)
YOU ARE READING
Edward doesn't feel the same after shooting Oswald. Without him, Ed finds himself crying to sleep at night- until it comes to his senses- Ed loves the man he killed. Is Oswald really dead? Will these two ever kiss and make up? Read to find out...