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She looked in the mirror and sighed. She was beginning to hate her reflection. It happened periodically, times when she would do anything to avoid looking in mirrors or taking pictures. Usually, she felt like that after a particularly cruel twist of fate.
This time was no exception. She'd just been told, in no uncertain terms, to get lost. It wouldn't have mattered as a rule, except that the person telling her happened to be her lover at the time. Ex-lover, she reminded herself, then shuddered as she caught sight of herself yet again. Makeup might hide her flaws, but what was the point. She decided to go without.
She left the bathroom, moving through her bedroom with the ease of a habit. Her gaze fell onto a small picture by her bedside, and she sighed softly, thinking of the memory in a new light. He hadn't really told her to get lost, she thought to herself. It just seemed that way. It was almost worse, really. She was in limbo, waiting for him to decide that he didn't really love her after all. That was what was going to happen, of course. What else could happen?
No work today. Maybe she would just bum around the house all day, trying not to think too much. Although by bumming around, she was setting herself up to do nothing but think. Still, it seemed like a good idea, and she decided to go for it. A bathrobe was shrugged on, her hair was thrown up into a messy ponytail, and she went to the living room to stare at the TV.
Six hours and innumerable commercials later, she decided to turn off the TV and do something moderately constructive. She flicked on a tape of piano music and went back to the couch, this time with a book. The words held her to them only vaguely as she tried to figure out what had gone wrong, where she had screwed up.
"Oh, God, I love him," she whispered, her voice clashing with the strains of the piano in the background. A tear slipped from her eye down her cheek, and she fell crying to the arm of the couch, wishing her pain gone, wishing herself dead, anything, anything at all. Just so this would end.
Ultimately, she came back to herself, knowing that she was going to fall apart again. And she thought about the flowers she had given him. All roses, all signifying her love. One was yellow, shouting to the world that she was happy when she was with him. The last time she had seen him, he'd had that rose still. The others were red, stating that she loved him. If she closed her eyes and concentrated, she could still feel his arms around her, holding her close to him. She could still smell his clean flesh. She could still feel the touch of his lips on hers.
Her head bowed under the weight of all this, and she fled to the security of utter depression again.
Two weeks later, when the first of the flowers arrived, she finally had her life back in some semblance of order. It had taken a massive effort, but she had done it. The single red rose ripped her apart. The carrier had been surprised at her reaction, at the tears and fury. The rose spent the rest of its short life in a dumpster.
That paved the way to more tears, and more depression, both of which were becoming more intense with each passing day. Valentine's Day was a week away, and she was so screwed up now she didn't think she'd ever be able to deal with it.
She left things as they were, preferring to be silent rather than acknowledge the rose and what it meant.
He was not content with that, she soon discovered. More roses arrived; not many, but enough to get the point across. The first two deliveries ended up being refused, but after that, she decided to keep the roses. Another flower now destroyed for her. She would never be able to look at roses the same way again. Especially not red ones. She would always think of him.
She never looked at the cards. She already knew he was the one sending them, and she didn't want to know what he had to say to her. It was probably an offer to take her back. She didn't need his pity.
Days passed, and Ash Wednesday was upon them. Mardi Gras had come and gone in a roar of silence as she stared at her walls, hearing his voice and feeling his touch and knowing that she could never have that again. Dimly, her words came back to her. "Of all the relationships I've ever had, this is the only one I would fight for." What a fool she'd been, believing that she could make a difference.
It was Ash Wednesday, though, that she opened the first of the cards. It was simple, quiet, and honest, much like he had been. It only read, "I love you, Alexa. -William" The words that meant so much to her, the words that signified everything she felt, were cheapened by her bitter thoughts.
Another day passed, and this time, there were two roses, a white one and a red intertwined. She took them from the courier with numb arms, placing them in water automatically, and wishing that they meant to him what they meant to her. Love, and eternity. She was so busy feeling sorry for herself that she never noticed the small band of gold glinting up at her from the entwined stems, or the diamond embedded in that gold.
Valentine's Day finally arrived, and she called in sick to work. She couldn't handle it, couldn't take today. So she stayed at home, where she wouldn't have to see all the gifts everyone was exchanging, where she wouldn't have to see the boxes of chocolates or the dozens of roses.
It was no surprise when her doorbell rang. Sighing, she stood, going to the door to answer it, and when she arrived, it was not a courier there with roses. It was him.
He held thirteen roses in his hands. Six were red, six were white. One was yellow. Before she even thought, her hand connected with his face, leaving a nice red mark. Her eyes blazed with fury as she regarded him. How dare he? How dare he do this to her, make her hurting even worse?
"Don't do this." That was all she said, but he nodded. His eyes closed for a long moment, then he opened them again.
"I'll leave. I just want an answer first." She started to refuse, but her curiousity was piqued.
"How can I answer if I don't even know the question?"
He sighed, clearing his throat. "Alexa, will you marry me?" His voice was steady, and she could almost believe that her answer meant next to nothing to him. But he was standing completely still, waiting for her next words.
Nothing came out. She couldn't speak. This was what she had wanted for so long, and been denied. She wouldn't be a fool. She wouldn't destroy her chance at happiness. She nodded slowly, looking back in her lover's eyes.
By Heart
Hold me close, baby please.
Tell me anything but that you're gonna leave.
As I kiss this falling tear,
I promise you I will be here
Until the stars fall from the sky
Until I find the reason why
And, darlin', as the years go by.
Until there's no tears left to cry
Until the angels close my eyes.
And even if we're worlds apart
I'll find my way back to you
By heart.
When you go, I'll stop the clock.
I won't ever let this moment stop.
Time is stealin' you from me
But it can never take this memory.
Until the stars fall from the sky
Until I find the reason why
And, darlin', as the years go by.
Until there's no tears left to cry
Until the angels close my eyes.
And even if we're worlds apart
I'll find my way back to you
By heart.
Until the stars fall from the sky
Until I find the reason why
And, darlin', as the years go by.
Until there's no tears left to cry
Until the angels close my eyes.
And even if we're worlds apart
I'll find my way back to you
By heart.
-Jim Brickman
Author's notes:
The name of the story came from a song by Jim Brickman. It's on the tape By Heart, which is filled with beautiful piano solos. You really should check it out.
The song By Heart is also on that tape, so I don't claim that either. Only the actual story is mine. I hope you enjoyed it.
