InsaneJournal

protect me from what I want
Who: Rufus
Where: his apartment
When: evening

It had been three weeks and two days since the last time Rufus had spoken to Bella Twight, and he was acutely aware of the passage of each day. No, he hadn't marked them down on a calendar, nothing as lame as that, but he'd marked them in his head. Twenty-three days. True, it was nothing compared to the amount of time he'd spent watching her from a distance and not speaking to her at all, but it felt different now that he'd sought her out at the market that day and had a pleasant, civil conversation with her. He'd rattled her a little, it had seemed, but all in all it had been a much better encounter than the ones they'd had after she'd dropped him like a bad habit back in high school. All the better to convince her that he had, indeed, changed, that he regretted his past behavior.

But did he?

That was a question well worth pondering, but Rufus didn't spend time thinking about such things. Rufus Hart was used to getting what he wanted, when he wanted it, because, well... he deserved it. The sheer force of his will, the charisma he could summon, the uniqueness he considered his own special gift all drove him forward, ensuring that life worked out the way he desired. Most people found his confidence to be wildly attractive, all except for the one person he most needed to impress. For all his trying, he didn't understand why Bella had no interest in having him back. He couldn't conceptualize that she was really, truly done with him.

This fine evening, Rufus could have been out with any of his friends, seeing and being seen. He could have gone to spend time with his family, especially Blanca, who at least somewhat understood his pain. Instead, he was indulging himself in his broody little ritual, something he only allowed himself to do once in a while. He was sprawled across his bed, the only light coming from the hallway; a wide swath of illumination fell across the sage-green bedspread upon which was spread every photo and every memento he had tucked inside the box that he kept hidden the majority of the time. He had his iPod hooked up to a set of speakers, cued to one of the playlists filled with songs that made him think of her. There was a photo of the two of them together that he held between two fingers, sliding it in one direction and then the other, almost idly. Damn, they looked good together, he thought, a perplexed frown marring his otherwise smooth features. Why couldn't she see that she should be with him again?

Maybe it was that she wouldn't see it, Rufus mused. She could be stubborn in her way. He cycled his way through the pictures, lingering on each one as if to take in every last detail, like there might be some clue that he would find if he stared for long enough. These ruminations always put him into a black mood, but they also made him determined that he'd find a way. Rufus Hart didn't fail, and he didn't lose, at least not on this scale. Whatever it took, he vowed to himself. Whatever.

His phone beeped from across the room, but he left it. There was only one person from whom he would have accepted a call right now, but he'd assigned her a special ringtone so he'd know right away if she called or texted. She wouldn't, Rufus knew, but he couldn't quite get himself to abandon the faint hope. Finally, he put his head down on the bed, his cheek resting against his favorite shot, a photo of Bella laughing, her thick, glossy russet hair blowing out behind her in a summer breeze. His longing was a physical ache, and he couldn't lift himself from it; he would lie here until the playlist had played all the way through, occasionally mouthing the words to himself.