Waiting.

She gave her heart to a falling star…

His eyes seemed permanently rimmed with dark lines. She knew they didn’t need much sleep, but she had the longstanding theory that he got even less sleep than his brothers (and sister). When she was younger, Rhiannon decided that she would try to get enough sleep for the both of them. Then her mother and father began to worry that there was something wrong with her, so she had to go back to getting enough sleep for just one person (plus it was hard to sleep that much).

When news filtered through of his tragedy, all the walls went up.

She knew the darkness around his eyes came from his worrying all the time. She listened carefully to her father when he talked about these things. Being the only biological Irving, without a twin, Rhiannon learned how to listen (rather than argue) very quickly, and soaked up everything possible. Childhood Trauma NOS. Not otherwise specified – and how could you? How could you diagnose anxiety stemming from your patient having watched his parents murdered by vampires, without being laughed out of the psychiatric community? Make no mistake, Rhi was always happy to share her parents with Andy whenever he needed them.

Around a world she declines, as the tears from her eyes fall.

There was always an innate desire to draw him out. Her big, grey eyes and platinum blonde hair kept long. These were probably her most defining features as she was growing up. Now in her teens, she wondered if Andy remembered the days when he hid in remote corners of the Irving, Clearwater, or Black households, but somehow she always found him. She wondered if this habit of hers had annoyed him – if it had, he never showed it. She hated when he hid… His low, soft voice carried something beyond his years, just like her wide, grey eyes. It was as though there was a gaping wound in his chest that no one could fix…it made her chest hurt to think of sometimes.

No one understands and no one will…

But when he smiled…Oh, when Andrew smiled, well… Rhiannon lived for that. His teeth were white and perfect, and lovely against his tanned skin. The dark shadows seemed to leave his eyes for even just a moment. Her heart leapt and even more-so when she was what had made that smile spring up. It was even better when she had coaxed a laugh from him. She loved him most in those moments…or when he was intently thinking over a meal or a dessert he was preparing, as though there was nothing that had ever hurt him. But those moments were short lived as her mind would bring her to a screeching halt with the reminder that those moments would not be hers forever. No, those moments would soon belong to someone else, she frequently thought. He would imprint – any day now – and any fond thoughts or memories of Rhiannon would become background noise of his life before his soul mate.

…all she has lost.

Her heart ached with those thoughts too, but never for long. She didn’t want to think on it for long. He was almost six years older than her so the thought was foolish to begin with. But she did owe him her life several times over. His demeanor was gentle and caring, and he never seemed opposed to spending time with her. He’d hold her hand, and never act strange when their shoulders or knees touched. Sometimes she’d swear he loved her too… And then she remembered that someday he would leave. He’d always be there, but he would so completely out of her reach that he may as well not be.

If he’s not here then where?
If he’s not here then where?

He watched her do homework. He helped her bake cookies. There were photos upon photos upon photos of the two of them in their own world – some they knew about, but most of them, both Andy and Rhi were completely unaware of. Rhiannon convinced herself that the angle at which Andy’s head was bent was innocuous; the way he always seemed to position himself near her in “group” photos was simply coincidence; the way occasionally his hands would be protectively hovering or lightly touching her in these images were just the natural gestures of someone who considered her just another “little sister”.

When she found it there, in the cold blue glare,

There was really no way she could have known better. Imprinting was just one big waiting game, unless you were extraordinarily lucky. But, then again, that was love wasn’t it? Waiting to find it, waiting to feel it, waiting to have it returned, waiting to feel secure in it. If there was someone out there waiting for him (even if they didn’t know it), there was someone waiting for her too, right? She had no way of knowing that she was absolutely right. Someone was waiting for her. The “I love you”’s she would scrawl (and then quickly erase) in fits of sixteen-year-old lovelorn, had to be meant for someone else in the long run. But right now, they were meant for him.

The words distressed and unfamiliar, where the feelings seared,

But sometimes when she thought feeling that way should hurt she instead took comfort in it. Andy seemed to be concerned that no one would love him, because of how he was. But she did. That meant that he was loveable. It meant that whoever Andy would imprint on would love him too…Love him like she loved him.

An emptiness had hung and in her chest she clenched.

She didn’t know that there was something there. She should have figured it out by drawing parallels between her sister’s relationship with her Quileute and her own. Hospital beds were always a dead give away. Amy had taken the photograph (because Amy took all of the photographs). Rhiannon was asleep – no doubt her body was trying to repair the broken bones, and burst blood vessels that caused the ugly bruises. Andy was also asleep – a rare state for him, particularly in his younger years – but faithfully at the girl’s bedside. Her hand was folded, gently, between both of his, as though he was making sure that there was no way she could move without him knowing.

Reality settled as the memories raced, while on the screen he lived.

She remembered that hospital stay. She knew she had loved him from that day – not even sure if she understood the implications of loving another human being in the non-familial way in which Rhiannon seemed to love everyone around her. Some days she wanted nothing more than to be by his side – other days she felt greedier and wanted his hands, his shoulders, his warmth, his eyes, his lips, his love – untainted, unadulterated, undivided, unobstructed, unconditional love. She wondered why he entertained her some days, when she was feeling more teenage and less mature. The feeling was bitter in her, and she felt as though she might just be a placeholder until he found who he was waiting for.

She teared; “Your selfishness has robbed you of the man you could’ve been,”

Then she would see the photograph of him by her bedside in the hospital all those years ago and she would become upset with herself for ever thinking such a thing. He didn’t have it in him to use her, or anyone for that matter, to hold a place. She knew being alone, especially at night, was not something that he particularly liked but he’d prefer it to making someone else feel less than he thought they were. He had been through so much in his life, in just twenty years, and all of it had shaped him. Those eyes, those hands, that soft, low voice of his and when any of those traits were leveled at her Rhiannon had to bite her tongue to keep herself silent, and keep her secret – the one that frequently threatened to overwhelm her.

“I wouldn’t change a thing about you. I love you dearly, my friend.”

She didn’t know the day was coming. The day was fast approaching when she would find out just who was waiting for her. He was waiting for her, and his wait was perhaps just as agonizing as hers. He was waiting for her platinum blonde hair and fair skin, her slender fingers, her silent, open smile, her hips, her lips, her laugh, her wide, grey eyes, her love – her untainted, unadulterated, undivided, unobstructed, unconditional love.

If he’s not here then where?
If he’s not here then were?
Been searching for my Afterman.