Autumn's Concerto

Autumn's Concerto 8

I laid on my bed, going rapidly through the entire scenario of before and what might happen to this after. After spending a good amount of my night staring at the ceiling, I decided it might be good to draw myself out of the camatose state and crawl out of my hole I called my room for a while.

Most of the lights were off around our small house leaving me to wonder just how long I had been back in my room. This almost-obsession with Edward Cullen may not be healthy for my mental state.

Sue was sitting in the living room, a dog-eared, worn book in her hand. Her eyes flicked back and forth between lines leisurely, as if she had all the time to read. When she heard my foot falls, she glanced up and smiled.

"Hey there, sleepy head." She said warmly, setting her book aside and patting the space beside her. "Want to sit with me? I feel like I haven't seen you in so long."

I took my spot beside her, her familiar warmth was comforting, especially when she put an arm around me like she used to when I was younger. "So, what have you been up to?" She asked, her voice casual and lilting. I suddenly felt tired enough to wish I had stayed in my room. "What's the matter?"

"I... I don't know." I confessed. "I'm kind of confused."

"Is it a boy?"

My head swiveled back to face her. "How did you know?"

Her eyes softened and crinkled a little at the corners. "I remember having that same look on my face when I met your dad. You feel like nothing is making sense, right? That you want to go one way while at the same time going the other?" I nodded. "Completely normal." She announced. "Who's the lucky boy?"

"He's... strange." I said, purposefully avoiding the question. "One minute he's kind, the next he's ignoring me like the plague. And I feel like I'm going to go crazy, especially when I want to like him but I also just want to run away and not look back." I fell against Sue's shoulder and sighed. I seemed to be doing that a lot lately. "I'm so confused."

Sue was quiet, absentmindedly rubbing her hand up and down my arm in thought. "Well, maybe he's just as confused as you are. Maybe he's being bi-polar because he doesn't know what to do or say around you." She squeezed my arm lightly. "You can be intimidating."

I grumbled, "I don't mean to be."

"What's he like?"

"Apart from bi-polar?" I thought a minute. How could I describe what I saw without sounding obsessed? "He's very gentleman-like, no matter what. But when he gets angry, it's scary. But when he's normal, when he's being himself, he's patient and understanding and graceful. And he has these eyes that if you look straight into, they will show you everything he's thinking."

"Sounds like you're in deep."

"I am not."

"Bella, that look on your face is not 'I-know-a-cute-boy' look."

I didn't want to have this conversation anymore. "Sue, do you miss Dad?" I felt childish for asking it, but he had been on my mind for a while; him and Mom.

Sue's features softened, almost aging as she said, "I miss him every day."

"I do too." I caught myself off guard with the turn of conversation, and I felt bitterness I hadn't felt in years. Bitterness and sadness and childish. "I told him to be careful. I always told him to be careful. And the one time I didn't-"

"Isabella, you had nothing to do with his death." Sue said, taking my hand and clutching it hard in her fingers. "You loved him and he loved you and that's all I want you to remember. That's what he would want you to remember. He's been gone for three years now, sweetheart. Let this guilt go."