Empty Panes.pdf

Empty Panes & Pretty Things By AydenMorgen

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5591160/1/

Not ready to let go

Cause then I'd never know

What I could be missing

But I'm missing way too much

So when do I give up what I've been wishing for.

I shot for the sky

I'm stuck on the ground

So why do I try, I know I'm gonna fall down

I thought I could fly, so why did I drown?

Never know why it's coming down, down, down.

Oh I am going down, down, down

-Down Jason Walker

BPOV -

Sold.

I gaped in complete stupefaction at the word, trying to turn it around in my mind

until it fit and the world righted itself again. It rolled around in there, bouncing off

of my skull with the force of a sledgehammer, but it wouldn't fall into place.

There was no place for it to fit into. It was too foreign. Too much.

"Angela, stop!" I shouted suddenly, my frantic demand dropping heavily into the

silence between loud rock songs.

She slammed on the brakes instantly. The little red Accent fishtailed beneath us

and then straightened again. Angela cursed like the pro I knew she wasn't, jerked

the car to the side of the road and slammed it into park, oblivious to the fact that

it was probably the worst possible place to stop.

"What the hell, Bella? You scared the crap out of me!" She glared, her voice

shaking and her brown eyes narrowed as she twisted the knob on the radio,

cutting it completely off.

"Sorry, sorry," I mumbled, my eyes darting past her and back to that sign.

It was sold? How could it be sold? It was mine. It had always been mine. It didn't

make sense.

"I'll uh..." I cleared my throat roughly and fished blindly around for my camera

case. "I need pictures."

Angela's eyes followed mine and I heard her sigh softly as she caught sight of the

sign. Her shoulders slumped slightly. "Of course," she murmured immediately,

not looking at me. Trying, in her own way I guess, to make this easier on me.

I grabbed for the door handle, that one word still rolling around in my mind. I

wouldn't cry over it though. Not yet.

"Bella, wait," Angela's hand darted out and grabbed my arm.

I turned back to her, one brow arched in question.

"You can't cross here," she mumbled, dropping her hand from my arm. "Too

much traffic. I'll park in the drive for you." She motioned toward the empty

driveway across the street.

"Oh," I blinked at the cars zipping past us and nodded once before settling back

against the seat again.

Angela scrutinized my face for a minute and then nodded. I sighed to myself,

relieved once again that she was not the sort to pry. She knew how much this

meant to me and that was enough for her. I was more grateful right then for that

quite acceptance than I think I had ever been.

My mind ran back to the sign as she jerked the car into drive and shot out into

traffic, cutting people off. I just couldn't believe it had actually been sold. When

had it happened? Who bought it? Why now? Did they know...?

No. I wouldn't think about that.

"Hold on," Angela muttered and, with no further warning, flung the little car into

a U-turn at the light, oblivious to all traffic signals as usual. The car fishtailed and

then straightened again, shooting like an arrow back down the road.

Within moments, she was whipping into the vacant driveway and throwing the car

into park again.

"Thanks," I mumbled, pushing the door open and climbing out, gratified that I

was still actually alive. Ang was the sweetest person alive but she drove like a

fucking maniac.

"Take your time," she called through the open door. "I'll be here." She made it

sound as if she were talking about more than just waiting for me to finish. I

figured she probably was…

I nodded once instead of thinking about the implications of that and adjusted the

camera bag over my shoulder, suddenly reluctant to turn around and face it. I

didn't figure it would be good. In my life, it was never good.

I turned slowly, worrying my bottom lip between my teeth. The sign was even

more final up close. A part of my mind pointed out that I shouldn't care if it was

sold, that it wasn't really mine. Another part told that one to mind its own fucking

business.

I ignored both as I let my eyes rove over the familiar house, biting on my lip to

keep from crying. It was massive. Three stories of red Victorian beauty. It shot

up into the sky, drawing the eye whether you wanted to look or not. It was

sweeping, Gothic… exactly the type of house that seemed ripped out of the pages

of old spooky romance novels. Not even the slightly faded and peeling red paint

detracted from that inherent beauty. It simply added charm to what might have

otherwise been overwhelmingly impressive.

The late afternoon sun glinted off of the stained glass windows, lighting them to

perfection. Tiny fairies floated in those panes seeming so sad and knowing that

the image pierced my heart just as it always did when I got this close to the

house anymore. Once upon a time, those fairies had seemed magical to me. Not

sad, but like they were dancing in the window panes just for me. It wasn't like

that now. It hadn't been since I was nine and everything had come tumbling

down around me.

Little tufts of grass had broken through the sidewalk in some places over those

long years, pitching the cement upward in uneven patches. I walked slowly,

unable to look down for fear that it would still be there. Tripping and falling over

one of those up-thrust bits of cement was infinitely preferable to seeing our

hands still imprinted there. I would cry then and I did not want to cry again. Not

yet.

The grass had not been cut recently and it swayed knee high in the winter wind.

It reminded me of sweet melodies and carefree dancing. Unwelcome images

floated to mind at that thought and I squeezed my eyes closed, refusing to

entertain them. It would just make this harder. It always did.

The house tormented me. It haunted me at night and whispered in the back of

my mind during the day. I should have hated it after everything, but I didn't. I

couldn't. It was a part of me and, no matter how many bad memories it held, I

would never stop loving it. I'd long ago resigned myself to that sad fact.

As I shuffled toward it, little arrows of sorrow piercing my heart, I wondered if I

would ever be able to resign myself to the fact that it wasn't really mine

anymore. That it might never be mine again.

I didn't think I would, especially not now, after everything.

I hated whoever had bought the house. It was irrational and I knew that, but I

couldn't help it. The house belonged to me. It always had. And someone, some

stranger, had reach out and plucked it away. My last tie to everything was just…

gone.

The thought made me angry, forcing away the sadness and threatening tears. My

jaw clenched. My eyes narrowed. I took a deep breath, gratified. It was a

prickling anger; irritation. I could do that. Irritation was easy, comfortable. Safe.

I jerked the camera from around my neck and began taking shots of the house,

ignoring the sign that wavered on the edges of my vision. I ignored everything,

just pointing and clicking, as anger coursed through me.

Satisfied that I'd taken enough of the front, I marched around to the back of the

house. My anger wavered slightly as the porch loomed into view. I loved that

porch. It was huge and wrapped lazily around the entire back half of the house. It

was glassed in, but I knew those windows rolled back and the sweetest of

breezes would rustle through that little piece of heaven.

I gritted my teeth and lifted the camera, but couldn't bring myself to take a

picture. It was different now. Empty. There was no riot of greenery poking up

through sparklingly clean glass. No breeze rustling the leaves until they made a

soft scratching noise. No comfortable chairs or laughter. No warmth.

I wanted to remember what the porch had been, not what it was now. It was

empty and devoid of life now. Not the paradise I'd loved so fiercely for so long.

God, what I wouldn't give to have that back. Just once. Five minutes. Ten. Just

once to have it back and not remember how it ended or why it ended.

I swung angrily away from the porch as tears began to burn up my throat. My

eyes fell on the half obscured path that led down to the river. My feet started

moving in that direction, even as my mind screamed for me to turn around and

go no further.

I should have listened to those screeching warnings, but of course I didn't. Of

course not. I never listened.

I stepped to the edge and the grief hit me like a hammer blow, knocking me

breathless. I swayed on my feet, dropping the camera and wrapping my arms

around my stomach, trying to hold myself together as the pain lashed and

stabbed at me.

Nothing at all had changed here. Little stairs were still carved into the hill, leading

down to the river. The greenish water lapped at the tiny dock that had been built

just for me, causing it to sway ever so lightly in the water.

I would never forget that dock and the first time I had seen it.

I'd squealed and raced down the steps, my tiny hand in his larger one. I had

been so very excited; I'd nearly dragged us both down the steep steps. He'd

caught me up in his arms, laughing, and carried me the rest of the way before

setting me on my feet at the edge. I'd danced out to the center, spinning in

circles and laughing as he watched, his eyes crinkled and twinkling.

My legs collapsed as I remembered. I would always remember and I just wanted

to fucking forget.

The sorrow I'd been fighting back for weeks swamped me. I huddled on my knees

right there at the edge of the little hill, my arms wrapped around my stomach as

the sobs wracked my body.

I had been so very stupid, trying to hold on to this. I should have known better. I

should have seen it coming. The house, this little slice of what had once been

heaven, wasn't mine anymore. It hadn't been for a long time.

So... why did it feel like something vital to me was being ripped out, piece by

excruciating piece?

I didn't know. I didn't care. It was so unfair. And it hurt. God, it hurt. I just

wanted to curl up on my side right there and stay. For an hour. A day. Eternity.

Whatever made it hurt less.

I wanted it back. I wanted all of it back.

And I couldn't have it. None of it. Not the house, not any of it.

I whimpered.

"Miss?" A soft, masculine voice called from behind me in obvious concern.

Oh dear God.

Mortification rushed in to war with sorrow, not quite able to push it away, but

trying anyway.

"Are you okay, miss?" He sounded no closer

"F-f-fine," I gasped out, still sobbing. I brushed frantically at my face, trying to

scrub the tears away. It was completely pointless, of course. More tears just

slipped out to take their place.

Dead leaves rustled behind me. Long blue jean encased legs and horrid black

Nikes entered my peripheral vision.

Oh dear God. Why couldn't he just go away? I clamped a hand over my mouth as

another sob threatened to burst out.

"You don't seem very fine," he pointed out gently, kneeling beside me.

I turned my head away, not wanting to let a stranger watch me cry. I didn't want

him to pry. I didn't want to see the spark of recognition when he figured out who

I was and why I was falling apart in the middle of a yard. It was too much. Way

too much.

"Are you hurt? Should I call for help?"

I didn't answer. What would I say? Some asshole bought the house I've loved my

entire life and I might or might not hate him for it? I'd sound like a complete

idiot. I already felt like one, whimpering for things I could never have again.

"Please answer me," he pleaded; his soft velvety voice alarmingly pleasant and

sounding slightly distressed.

"Please go," I whispered, choking back another sob. I sounded pathetic. My voice

was all thick and hoarse. "Please," I whimpered again as another sob threatened

to burst out. Dear God, why couldn't I stop?

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