In the White Room
I'm sitting on the bed, messing at the creases that mar the coverlet when I hear it. A sound, coming from the direction I had most feared it would come from. Not the door, but the window.
Jasper never had been overtly ostentatious, but he'd always had something of a dramatic streak when it came to entrances.
Raising my head, I let out a resigned sigh and let him cross the room to kneel before me. Looking down at him, stupid golden curls and all, I'm tired again.
"Bella." he starts.
"No, please. I can't breathe when you do this and you know it."
"Bells, please. Come with me."
"God damn it, Jasper," I snap, standing up to shove past him, "I already told you that we're not going to Panama! I can't!"
I look back at him, still on the floor, and sigh again. He knows I can't stand his bitching, but that sad face will get me every time.
"I'm not going to Panama."
"I am not going to Panama!"
Honestly, it's like he does it for fun, just to make me mad. Just to get what he wants.
I turn back to him from my new spot at the window, and center myself.
"Going to Panama constitutes running away, and we don't do that anymore. Remember, babe?" I plead, crossing back over to him. "Remember? We don't run away anymore. We live. We fight."
Seeing the plea in my eyes, he knows he only has to speak the truth to get me to cave. We've always been that way, him and I. Easy with each other, and every kind of hard I never knew there was.
"Bella, honey, I know it feels that way, and you know I'd never suggest it if I thought it was wrong for us, but-"he pressed right on through my exasperated sigh, "we can't see with brand new eyes if we stay here in the dark. We have to find home."
I stay sitting this time, both of us facing each other, criss-cross applesauce. I feel so defeated, and I can't quite say my own name, but I know that he's right.
I know that we have to find home.