LoveandLogic
Refugee
Damn this story is taking me forever! I have too many men living in this house! Anyways, here is chapter two. Thank you all for reading! 
(Even if it's not a Bono fic...
)
Edge squinted up at his neighbors window, confused only momentarily until realizing that she was gone. Did I scare her off? He wondered to himself. If so, that wasn’t his intention. From the way that the three ol’ biddy’s talked about Alexandra, Edge couldn’t stop himself from feeling a twang of sympathy. He wanted, in his own way, to show her that he wasn’t like the rest of them…that he wasn’t much like anyone else in the world. Edge was his own, raised by his Welsh family to be proper, caring, mellow and, above all, to be a gentleman. And he was, which was why he never understood Aislinn and all the choices she made for their marriage, or lack of marriage.
Darkness blanketed the sky with dark, black stormy clouds. Impulsively, miniature raindrops punched through the vault of heaven, landing lightly around the party. Scurrying, Edge and his mates gathered up all their leftover food, plates, cups, bottles of beer and stashed them in the white cupboards of Edge’s kitchen. It was almost nine p.m. and the other three members of U2 left to go home, disappointed that the rain ruined the rest of their night.
Edge, on the other hand, was in a shameful happiness of being unaccompanied. With the guys gone and the lights turned down low, Edge finally found the peace he had been cracving. Leaning against the smooth, black marble countertop, Edge crossed his arms, adoring the white cupboards and brown, stressed stone tiled walls and slate floors.. It was an combination of décor, as was the rest of the house. However, that’s what drew Edge in to the mansion. He didn’t want an everyday living space. He wanted something unique and exquisite. A house that people would walk into and admire the architecture, heightened period ceilings, Georgian sash windows and marble fireplaces. There was something breathtaking about the arches, cornices and solid wood floors. His favorite, above all, was the occasional spark of stained glass beauty: stained glass fans, windows and decorations.
As remarkable as the four walls were, Edge still couldn’t shake the shiver of alienation.
With all the wonderful features the shelter had to offer: the grand entrance hall with its columnar supports, the black and white floors, he dragged at the fact that he had no one to share them with--no one to enter through period door pediments and stained glass transports.
In the maze of his imagination, Edge could almost see himself huddled next to a woman in one of the three beautifully proportioned reception rooms graced with marble fireplaces, seeing her beauty a thousand times more eye-catching and intense than the fire itself.
Above all, what upset him the most, was being surrounded by so much detail and, yet, being unable to create a description of the nonexistent woman that would love him, kiss him, undress him beneath stucco coved ceilings and atop the Wilton wool carpeting. That’s all he really wanted, all he desperately needed. Love. He was so tired of being lonely, of falling asleep in an empty bed, awakening to only himself and skewed sheets. For years he’s been without a woman’s touch, neglected of the scent of a woman.
And as much as he worshipped the rain, the sudden weather interrupted his plans of playing his acoustic out by the pool in the great outdoors, singing as the forest sleeps. So, moving on to plan B, Edge hiked up the red carpet stairway up to his spacious bedroom. After showering and dressing into a pair of flannel pajama bottoms, he set a seat next to the window, opening the glass to allow the sprits of rain mist his profile.
Sitting down on the plush chair, with one leg angled on the sill of the window, the other upright, acting as a stand for his tobacco stained acoustic Gibson SJ200 and tuned it with ease, immediately finding the correct tone for the song in his mind.
In the candlelight, the guitarist clipped a capo on the second fret of the neck and swiped one clean strum over the six stings, just to be sure even though he’s played the same song again and again over the period his life. It was a habit, checking and double checking his instrument, being a perfectionist in small doses. Only when it came to his music, that is.
Skipping the intro, Edge went right into the song, starting off with a D chord and transforming into a steady, usual pattern: D, G, D, D, G, D, D, A, G, D, A, G…
With the rain acting as background vocals, the musician sang lightly to himself:
“I have climbed highest mountains
I have run through the fields
Only to be with you
Only to be with you
I have run
I have crawled
I have scaled these city walls
These city walls
Only to be with you
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for”
Alex laid in bed, tossing and turning as usual. She asked herself why she even bothered to attempt sleep. It never, ever happened. Even with the prescribed medication on her bedside table, she still could never manage to doze off.
On a happier note, it was raining and the breeze from outside blew her sheer, purple curtains, making them twirl and spin as graceful as the ballerinas she had once seen at a Broadway show. She loved rainy nights, enchanted by the sound of the pellets pitter-pattering on her roof and the smell of fresh, heaven sent rain. Not even the low thunder or scatter of lightning frightened her as it had when she was a child.
Oh, but the yearning for sleep! If only for once she could fall into a mellow, Zen-like state of unconscious! To relish in sweet dreams of magnificent hills of green and flowers of yellow! Was that too much to ask? She was certain that her lack of rest was driving her to insanity. In fact, she was starting to question her mental health at this very moment. From a close distance, music infiltrated in past the curtains, waltzing through the air, into her ears and nesting at her heart.
Transfixed and meddlesome, Alexandra rolled out of bed, tip-toeing to her window and sitting in the sill. Thank God, she wasn’t hallucinating. Sure enough, her neighbor, Edge, was at his very own window, his face appearing as though he were off in his own, safe world free of materialism, war, rage and death. Easeful were his lips, his mouth in slow-motion as he sang, his long, slender fingers gliding over the neck of the guitar with apparent comfort.
The moonlight reflected off his bare chest, illuminating the paleness of his glowing skin. Wearing a cap, his aura gave off a very relaxing and meditating brilliance. She watched with wonder and admiration. Being an artist herself, she could vague for the musician and his naked passion for music. And, to her utter euphoria, the stranger played wonderfully…soulfully.
Lost in translation, a flicker of someone watching him emerged from the left of the window, Edge steadied his fingers, peering at the corner of his eye to the house next to his. Red, fiery hair shone through the darkness like dahlia fluorescent. Alexandra, the mysterious, unknown Alexandra herself, was lounging by her lattice, caressing her ivory arms, her long neck exposed, stretched to look upon the man only yards away. Their houses were close, no doubt, Edge thought, but he never would have thought that she could hear him from where she was, especially with the bullets of rain thick between them.
Did he upset her? Wake her? Judging from the hypnotized stance of her formation, Edge could tell that Alexandra was far from annoyed with his playing. She seemed…in awe? Picking his guitar back up, Edge continued with the song, eye’s focused on his solitary audience.
Alex knew he was watching her and, honestly, it didn’t bother her all too much. They were having a conversation of their own, a silent, soulful connection. All in all, weren’t they similar in so many ways? Alone, living in large houses, keeping to themselves. Only difference was, he was famous, she was not. He had friends, she left hers behind in the States. He was hiding, she was running…
Aware now that he had a listener, Edge straightened himself, sat up and picked up where he left off: D, G, D, D, G, D. Singing once more, he made sure to turn up his vocals so that Alexandra could hear him clearly, even through the pounding rain--through the thick fog of their connected gaze.
“I have kissed honey lips
Felt the healing in her fingertips
It burned like a fire
This burning desire”
Alexandra calmed the flurry of butterflies in her insides as best she could. Her stomach twisted with pleasure from hearing her neighbors glorious, angelic, soft voice. It was a one-of-a-kind tonality: not too low, not too high but stuck somewhere in the middle. It was as if Edge and his guitar were two in one, a harmony and melody.
“I have spoke with the tongue of angels
I have held the hand of a devil
It was warm in the night
I was cold as a stone
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for”
Alexandra knew the song, even if it was just the course. She loved music of all sorts but lately in her life she had been falling away from it, unable to link herself with the soul of the notes. If anything, music was only background noise for her anymore, inviting itself through the static stations of her boom box as she painted or cared to her greenhouse of flowered friends.
Aw, this man in the window! How he captured her, even if only in tiny waves. She admired how his eyes sparkled in the rain, how the drops acted as millions of mosaic prisms off his creamy, pale feet. There something sensual about the way he sang to her, eyeing her from across the distance. It was almost as though he understood her, cared for her, dreamt of her.
Don’t be silly, she told herself. He’s just being polite. Hell, for all she knew, Edge probably didn’t even acknowledge her. It was dark out, after all, the only light permitted shined through Edge’s window and it was a low glow, at that. Even the moon was hidden by the thick, thundering clouds.
Yes, silly. Who would ever care for her? Who would ever dream of her? She was just an average, quiet, reserved girl and as for Edge? Edge was a rock star, a man with millions and flesh never few. Surely he’s been with models, actresses and musicians of his same class. What was she? Nothing. Nothing in the eyes of her neighbors. Nothing but a crazy, mental woman with no friends, no family. Sadly, she admitted, they weren’t wrong. Orphaned? Yes. Crazy? No. But they weren’t worthy to know that information. No one was. Not her neighbors, not their friends, not their daughters. Not even the guitarist in the window.
Forcing herself to break away from the window, Alex tied her curtains together and jumped back into her bed. Edge, confused and somewhat saddened at the sudden absence of the girl, waited for a few minutes. Alas, she did not come back to eye’s view.
Disappointed, he put his guitar back on the stand next to the window, turned off the lamp and laid down on the cool sheets of his empty bed, his thoughts buzzing with unanswered questions: what did all of this mean? Maybe Alex wasn’t actually interested in Edge at all, just his music? That would be alright, thought Edge. That’s what he did for a living, what he’s best at and comfortable with. Besides, he was being unrealistic. Alexandra didn’t know him, he didn’t know her. All they knew about one another was that their bedroom windows were straight across from one another. What good does that do?
Now, however, his mysterious woman now had a face. And it wasn’t the face of a stranger that Edge had made up in his imagination. When he now closed his eyes to adrift, Alexandra’s crimson hair surrounded him, tickling his chest and shoulders. She was there with him: in his bedroom, loving him, adoring him. In the music room she watched him on the mirrored walls, singing along to the songs he played. In the kitchen she helped him cook meals that they would share together under the Dublin sky.
Frustrated, Edge crushed his thoughts into dust, flipped over onto his stomach and begged for sleep to take him.
Meanwhile, Alexandra awoke three hours later, the nightmares of blood and shattered glass raping her virgin ease. Behind her eyelids flashed, like the numerous bolts of lightning, a woman who looked much like her, only paler, thin and sickly. The woman fell from her hospital bed, crashing onto the floor. Alexandra stood in front of the woman, frozen at her planted feet, wanting desperately to reach out and help the ill lady.
One scene faded into another and now Alexandra was faced with sitting in the passengers’ seat of an old, worn down car. The radio was blaring some odd country song and she felt dizzy, her sight askew, the world spinning. Screaming to the heavens, praying with all her heart, she lost control, almost as if the steering wheel had been glued into place, not turning in the least bit.
Colliding into darkness, Alexandra shielded her face from the glass flying towards her, the shards cutting her skin, piercing her body like thousands and thousands of tiny knives. Blood splattered across the broken windshield, dashboard and review mirror. A throbbing at her forehead made her panic and, reaching up, she felt the large gash.
Blood, blood, why was there so much blood? Where did the people come from, where did the car go? Staring ahead, Alexandra pushed through the millions of rioting protestors, their signs apparent but message unclear. They clashed about her, trying to stop her and here and there to gain her attention. Ignoring all the grabbing hands and speaking tongues saying anything but nothing. She wanted nothing more than to get to the front of the line where the real chaos was taking place.
The sound of a gun, loud and piercing pained her brain, making her scream out. Up straight and broken into a cold sweat, Alex struggled to find air, her lungs weak, her throat tight.
“It’s all in your mind,” She cooed out loud to herself. “It was just a nightmare. Just a nightmare…”
Finally, just as the sun was making it’s first appearance behind Ireland’s landscape, Alexandra’s heart settled, her blood flowing normally and not so cold. Zombie-like, she took a cold shower, avoiding her reflection in the full length mirror, not wanting to see her pale and bruised arms.
After a breakfast of coffee, Alex walked down the hall and through the door that led to her greenhouse, attending to the many rose bushes, trimming and watering. Once she was done in the indoor garden, she gathered her hedge trimmers and gardening tools to fix up the outside, not that anything really needed repaired. If anything, she was obsessed with keeping her lawn green, the hedges trimmed and flower beds colorful and vivid.
Edge didn’t wake until the afternoon, the clouds still hazy from the after effects of the storm. Rubbing the sleep from the corner of his eyes, he put his feet on the cold, hardwood floor and blindly found his way to the shower. After shaving and dressing into a black t-shirt, blue jeans and his red converse, he couldn’t prevent his shifting thoughts towards the young girl next door. Sometime in the dead of the night, he could have sworn that he heard screaming. Indeed, it woke him but when he sat up to listen, all he could hear was the deafening silence and the rain drops on the roof.
Still, it was odd. Nothing could wake him up, not even Bono when he pushes him or takes the covers off his bed during their tours. Edge has always been a deep sleeper. Evermore, a shriek of terror jolted him. Was the shrieking his own? Did he have a nightmare? He couldn’t remember.
Making himself a small breakfast of toast and coffee, Edge took his guitar to the patio by the pool, upset that it was still grey out, though happy that it wasn’t raining. Alex could hear the playing from her yard, stopping momentarily from weed-picking to listen to the soothing, acoustic notes.
Damn that man plays a beautiful guitar… No, Alex! Don’t! Don’t get sucked in again. Remember? Remember what happened last time? Do you want to go through that again?
Pulling up her long sleeves, she traced over the bruises on her left arm, shaking her head at herself in deep despair and self-loathing.
No, I don’t.
Ignoring the music instead of bathing in it, Alex proceeded with her gardening, blocking out everything but the task before her. She had been good at that, teaching her mind to put a wall around the events she found unnecessary to her life. Not that the musician was a distraction, just…not important.
Cait, being the nosey lady that was part of her nature, peaked over the fence, watching as Alexandra tended to her yard. Edge saw the old woman and he set down his guitar to chat, just to keep up appearances. The last thing he wanted was for the local newspaper to write a first page article on how the new member of their community was an everyday, conceited rock star. He was anything but that.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Cait,” Edge smiled, propping his elbows on the metal fence.
Forcing her sight away from Alexandra, Cait boasted back. “Good afternoon, dear. And how are you today?”
“Just fine, thank you. And how about yourself?”
“Swell, swell.”
She trailed off, Cait’s attention to something else completely off-center from where Edge stood only inches away. Turning, anxious to see what the woman was so interested over, Edge spotted Alexandra, dressed in a brown, long sleeved shirt that clung to her perfect, slender torso. Her cut off shorts revealed long, smooth, ivory legs. Her long, wavy hair was tied up in a ponytail, a brown bandanna over the crown and tying in the back. Wearing Gardner gloves, she kneeled down, pulling out dead weeds, throwing them into a bag. A basket beside her held flowers from her garden.
Edge asked Cait. “It’s almost eighty-degrees out. She’s going to have a heat stroke.”
Cait chuckled with amusement. “She’s always wearing long sleeves.”
“Why?”
“Don’t know,” Cait shrugged. “Maybe she’s insecure?”
“She shouldn’t be. I’m going to go say hi.”
Edge started to walk away until Cait caught him by his shoulders. “Wooooah, hold up, young man. She doesn’t like to be pestered.”
“Pester?!” Edge shot, feeling somewhat insulted. “I’m not going to pester. I just want to say hi. It’s not too forward to say hi to a fellow neighbor is it?”
If only she knew, Edge thought. Cait, though gossipy, knew nothing about last night and Edge playing music for Alexandra across lawns while the storm boomed. She didn’t know about how Alexandra stared deep into his soul and closed her eyes, leaning her head back and relaxing to a famous U2 song. If anything, they’ve already said hello’s without words. Only now he wanted to introduce himself so that they wouldn’t remain strangers.
“She won’t say anything back,” Informed Cait with a concerned look. “She never does. The most I’ve ever heard her say was ‘Thank you’ to the cashiers at the market.”
“I’m not worried about that.” Edge grinned. “I just want to be polite.”
“Go right ahead,” Cait encouraged. “It’s better to find out for yourself, anyways.”
Edge felt that Cait was being a little too hard on Alexandra. It’s not like she caused troubled. All she was doing was fixing her yard and humming lightly to herself. How did that make her a bad person? It made her normal.
Feeling confident, Edge walked to the other side of the yard, pausing at the fence only to take a deep breath, debating over what he would say before actually taking action. Unlocking the gate, he crossed the line between the two properties but not before gifting the watchful Cait with a wink. Weakly, she smiled back and snickered, thinking, “What a thick block…”
Alexandra knew that the man was behind her, studying her, shifting on his feet, nervous on how to react. Alex, on the other hand, was going to let him fret over it for a little bit, as wrong as it was. No man should ever be this afraid to say something as easy as a “hello” to a woman. She found it amusing in a dark, twisted way.
Then, after a few seconds, Edge cleared his throat. “Er, hello. Alexandra, correct?”
Throwing a glance over her shoulder, her bright, almost lime green eyes searched his body from head to foot and then back again. Ah, yes, he was a handsome man, she mused. Tall, thin but not too thin, muscled in his forearms and hands. On normal occasions Alex couldn’t tolerate facial hair on men, but it looked stylish on the stranger: well kept, trimmed mustache connecting to a controlled goatee, colored brown with scattered hairs of grey. As for his hair, well, she couldn’t even be sure if he had any because he was always wearing a cap. If it were anyone else it would have looked goofy but on him it was different. It suited him, just as his blue jeans, black t-shirt and converse fitted him.
Edge was relived. So far, so good. She hasn’t said anything back but she was looking at him and that was a plus. Nevertheless, Alex shook her head slightly and went back to her gardening. Edge huffed with failure but continued on.
“I’m Dave,” He said a bit louder. “Dave Evans. Erm, my friends call me ’Edge.’”
Alexandra stood up, both hands holding her bags of dead plants and basket of flowers. Without looking back at the musician, Alexandra said, “I know who you are.” And trotted back into the house.
Edge sighed with a shrug and saw Cait laughing behind the fence. Edge snickered back. The whole situation truly was somewhat amusing.
“I told you,” Cait said. “She’s impossible.”
He nodded in agreement. “Yes, but you were wrong about one thing.”
Cocking her head to the side, Cait asked. “Wrong about what?”
“You said she wouldn’t talk to me. But she did.”
? 
(Even if it's not a Bono fic...)Edge squinted up at his neighbors window, confused only momentarily until realizing that she was gone. Did I scare her off? He wondered to himself. If so, that wasn’t his intention. From the way that the three ol’ biddy’s talked about Alexandra, Edge couldn’t stop himself from feeling a twang of sympathy. He wanted, in his own way, to show her that he wasn’t like the rest of them…that he wasn’t much like anyone else in the world. Edge was his own, raised by his Welsh family to be proper, caring, mellow and, above all, to be a gentleman. And he was, which was why he never understood Aislinn and all the choices she made for their marriage, or lack of marriage.
Darkness blanketed the sky with dark, black stormy clouds. Impulsively, miniature raindrops punched through the vault of heaven, landing lightly around the party. Scurrying, Edge and his mates gathered up all their leftover food, plates, cups, bottles of beer and stashed them in the white cupboards of Edge’s kitchen. It was almost nine p.m. and the other three members of U2 left to go home, disappointed that the rain ruined the rest of their night.
Edge, on the other hand, was in a shameful happiness of being unaccompanied. With the guys gone and the lights turned down low, Edge finally found the peace he had been cracving. Leaning against the smooth, black marble countertop, Edge crossed his arms, adoring the white cupboards and brown, stressed stone tiled walls and slate floors.. It was an combination of décor, as was the rest of the house. However, that’s what drew Edge in to the mansion. He didn’t want an everyday living space. He wanted something unique and exquisite. A house that people would walk into and admire the architecture, heightened period ceilings, Georgian sash windows and marble fireplaces. There was something breathtaking about the arches, cornices and solid wood floors. His favorite, above all, was the occasional spark of stained glass beauty: stained glass fans, windows and decorations.
As remarkable as the four walls were, Edge still couldn’t shake the shiver of alienation.
With all the wonderful features the shelter had to offer: the grand entrance hall with its columnar supports, the black and white floors, he dragged at the fact that he had no one to share them with--no one to enter through period door pediments and stained glass transports.
In the maze of his imagination, Edge could almost see himself huddled next to a woman in one of the three beautifully proportioned reception rooms graced with marble fireplaces, seeing her beauty a thousand times more eye-catching and intense than the fire itself.
Above all, what upset him the most, was being surrounded by so much detail and, yet, being unable to create a description of the nonexistent woman that would love him, kiss him, undress him beneath stucco coved ceilings and atop the Wilton wool carpeting. That’s all he really wanted, all he desperately needed. Love. He was so tired of being lonely, of falling asleep in an empty bed, awakening to only himself and skewed sheets. For years he’s been without a woman’s touch, neglected of the scent of a woman.
And as much as he worshipped the rain, the sudden weather interrupted his plans of playing his acoustic out by the pool in the great outdoors, singing as the forest sleeps. So, moving on to plan B, Edge hiked up the red carpet stairway up to his spacious bedroom. After showering and dressing into a pair of flannel pajama bottoms, he set a seat next to the window, opening the glass to allow the sprits of rain mist his profile.
Sitting down on the plush chair, with one leg angled on the sill of the window, the other upright, acting as a stand for his tobacco stained acoustic Gibson SJ200 and tuned it with ease, immediately finding the correct tone for the song in his mind.
In the candlelight, the guitarist clipped a capo on the second fret of the neck and swiped one clean strum over the six stings, just to be sure even though he’s played the same song again and again over the period his life. It was a habit, checking and double checking his instrument, being a perfectionist in small doses. Only when it came to his music, that is.
Skipping the intro, Edge went right into the song, starting off with a D chord and transforming into a steady, usual pattern: D, G, D, D, G, D, D, A, G, D, A, G…
With the rain acting as background vocals, the musician sang lightly to himself:
“I have climbed highest mountains
I have run through the fields
Only to be with you
Only to be with you
I have run
I have crawled
I have scaled these city walls
These city walls
Only to be with you
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for”
Alex laid in bed, tossing and turning as usual. She asked herself why she even bothered to attempt sleep. It never, ever happened. Even with the prescribed medication on her bedside table, she still could never manage to doze off.
On a happier note, it was raining and the breeze from outside blew her sheer, purple curtains, making them twirl and spin as graceful as the ballerinas she had once seen at a Broadway show. She loved rainy nights, enchanted by the sound of the pellets pitter-pattering on her roof and the smell of fresh, heaven sent rain. Not even the low thunder or scatter of lightning frightened her as it had when she was a child.
Oh, but the yearning for sleep! If only for once she could fall into a mellow, Zen-like state of unconscious! To relish in sweet dreams of magnificent hills of green and flowers of yellow! Was that too much to ask? She was certain that her lack of rest was driving her to insanity. In fact, she was starting to question her mental health at this very moment. From a close distance, music infiltrated in past the curtains, waltzing through the air, into her ears and nesting at her heart.
Transfixed and meddlesome, Alexandra rolled out of bed, tip-toeing to her window and sitting in the sill. Thank God, she wasn’t hallucinating. Sure enough, her neighbor, Edge, was at his very own window, his face appearing as though he were off in his own, safe world free of materialism, war, rage and death. Easeful were his lips, his mouth in slow-motion as he sang, his long, slender fingers gliding over the neck of the guitar with apparent comfort.
The moonlight reflected off his bare chest, illuminating the paleness of his glowing skin. Wearing a cap, his aura gave off a very relaxing and meditating brilliance. She watched with wonder and admiration. Being an artist herself, she could vague for the musician and his naked passion for music. And, to her utter euphoria, the stranger played wonderfully…soulfully.
Lost in translation, a flicker of someone watching him emerged from the left of the window, Edge steadied his fingers, peering at the corner of his eye to the house next to his. Red, fiery hair shone through the darkness like dahlia fluorescent. Alexandra, the mysterious, unknown Alexandra herself, was lounging by her lattice, caressing her ivory arms, her long neck exposed, stretched to look upon the man only yards away. Their houses were close, no doubt, Edge thought, but he never would have thought that she could hear him from where she was, especially with the bullets of rain thick between them.
Did he upset her? Wake her? Judging from the hypnotized stance of her formation, Edge could tell that Alexandra was far from annoyed with his playing. She seemed…in awe? Picking his guitar back up, Edge continued with the song, eye’s focused on his solitary audience.
Alex knew he was watching her and, honestly, it didn’t bother her all too much. They were having a conversation of their own, a silent, soulful connection. All in all, weren’t they similar in so many ways? Alone, living in large houses, keeping to themselves. Only difference was, he was famous, she was not. He had friends, she left hers behind in the States. He was hiding, she was running…
Aware now that he had a listener, Edge straightened himself, sat up and picked up where he left off: D, G, D, D, G, D. Singing once more, he made sure to turn up his vocals so that Alexandra could hear him clearly, even through the pounding rain--through the thick fog of their connected gaze.
“I have kissed honey lips
Felt the healing in her fingertips
It burned like a fire
This burning desire”
Alexandra calmed the flurry of butterflies in her insides as best she could. Her stomach twisted with pleasure from hearing her neighbors glorious, angelic, soft voice. It was a one-of-a-kind tonality: not too low, not too high but stuck somewhere in the middle. It was as if Edge and his guitar were two in one, a harmony and melody.
“I have spoke with the tongue of angels
I have held the hand of a devil
It was warm in the night
I was cold as a stone
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for”
Alexandra knew the song, even if it was just the course. She loved music of all sorts but lately in her life she had been falling away from it, unable to link herself with the soul of the notes. If anything, music was only background noise for her anymore, inviting itself through the static stations of her boom box as she painted or cared to her greenhouse of flowered friends.
Aw, this man in the window! How he captured her, even if only in tiny waves. She admired how his eyes sparkled in the rain, how the drops acted as millions of mosaic prisms off his creamy, pale feet. There something sensual about the way he sang to her, eyeing her from across the distance. It was almost as though he understood her, cared for her, dreamt of her.
Don’t be silly, she told herself. He’s just being polite. Hell, for all she knew, Edge probably didn’t even acknowledge her. It was dark out, after all, the only light permitted shined through Edge’s window and it was a low glow, at that. Even the moon was hidden by the thick, thundering clouds.
Yes, silly. Who would ever care for her? Who would ever dream of her? She was just an average, quiet, reserved girl and as for Edge? Edge was a rock star, a man with millions and flesh never few. Surely he’s been with models, actresses and musicians of his same class. What was she? Nothing. Nothing in the eyes of her neighbors. Nothing but a crazy, mental woman with no friends, no family. Sadly, she admitted, they weren’t wrong. Orphaned? Yes. Crazy? No. But they weren’t worthy to know that information. No one was. Not her neighbors, not their friends, not their daughters. Not even the guitarist in the window.
Forcing herself to break away from the window, Alex tied her curtains together and jumped back into her bed. Edge, confused and somewhat saddened at the sudden absence of the girl, waited for a few minutes. Alas, she did not come back to eye’s view.
Disappointed, he put his guitar back on the stand next to the window, turned off the lamp and laid down on the cool sheets of his empty bed, his thoughts buzzing with unanswered questions: what did all of this mean? Maybe Alex wasn’t actually interested in Edge at all, just his music? That would be alright, thought Edge. That’s what he did for a living, what he’s best at and comfortable with. Besides, he was being unrealistic. Alexandra didn’t know him, he didn’t know her. All they knew about one another was that their bedroom windows were straight across from one another. What good does that do?
Now, however, his mysterious woman now had a face. And it wasn’t the face of a stranger that Edge had made up in his imagination. When he now closed his eyes to adrift, Alexandra’s crimson hair surrounded him, tickling his chest and shoulders. She was there with him: in his bedroom, loving him, adoring him. In the music room she watched him on the mirrored walls, singing along to the songs he played. In the kitchen she helped him cook meals that they would share together under the Dublin sky.
Frustrated, Edge crushed his thoughts into dust, flipped over onto his stomach and begged for sleep to take him.
Meanwhile, Alexandra awoke three hours later, the nightmares of blood and shattered glass raping her virgin ease. Behind her eyelids flashed, like the numerous bolts of lightning, a woman who looked much like her, only paler, thin and sickly. The woman fell from her hospital bed, crashing onto the floor. Alexandra stood in front of the woman, frozen at her planted feet, wanting desperately to reach out and help the ill lady.
One scene faded into another and now Alexandra was faced with sitting in the passengers’ seat of an old, worn down car. The radio was blaring some odd country song and she felt dizzy, her sight askew, the world spinning. Screaming to the heavens, praying with all her heart, she lost control, almost as if the steering wheel had been glued into place, not turning in the least bit.
Colliding into darkness, Alexandra shielded her face from the glass flying towards her, the shards cutting her skin, piercing her body like thousands and thousands of tiny knives. Blood splattered across the broken windshield, dashboard and review mirror. A throbbing at her forehead made her panic and, reaching up, she felt the large gash.
Blood, blood, why was there so much blood? Where did the people come from, where did the car go? Staring ahead, Alexandra pushed through the millions of rioting protestors, their signs apparent but message unclear. They clashed about her, trying to stop her and here and there to gain her attention. Ignoring all the grabbing hands and speaking tongues saying anything but nothing. She wanted nothing more than to get to the front of the line where the real chaos was taking place.
The sound of a gun, loud and piercing pained her brain, making her scream out. Up straight and broken into a cold sweat, Alex struggled to find air, her lungs weak, her throat tight.
“It’s all in your mind,” She cooed out loud to herself. “It was just a nightmare. Just a nightmare…”
Finally, just as the sun was making it’s first appearance behind Ireland’s landscape, Alexandra’s heart settled, her blood flowing normally and not so cold. Zombie-like, she took a cold shower, avoiding her reflection in the full length mirror, not wanting to see her pale and bruised arms.
After a breakfast of coffee, Alex walked down the hall and through the door that led to her greenhouse, attending to the many rose bushes, trimming and watering. Once she was done in the indoor garden, she gathered her hedge trimmers and gardening tools to fix up the outside, not that anything really needed repaired. If anything, she was obsessed with keeping her lawn green, the hedges trimmed and flower beds colorful and vivid.
Edge didn’t wake until the afternoon, the clouds still hazy from the after effects of the storm. Rubbing the sleep from the corner of his eyes, he put his feet on the cold, hardwood floor and blindly found his way to the shower. After shaving and dressing into a black t-shirt, blue jeans and his red converse, he couldn’t prevent his shifting thoughts towards the young girl next door. Sometime in the dead of the night, he could have sworn that he heard screaming. Indeed, it woke him but when he sat up to listen, all he could hear was the deafening silence and the rain drops on the roof.
Still, it was odd. Nothing could wake him up, not even Bono when he pushes him or takes the covers off his bed during their tours. Edge has always been a deep sleeper. Evermore, a shriek of terror jolted him. Was the shrieking his own? Did he have a nightmare? He couldn’t remember.
Making himself a small breakfast of toast and coffee, Edge took his guitar to the patio by the pool, upset that it was still grey out, though happy that it wasn’t raining. Alex could hear the playing from her yard, stopping momentarily from weed-picking to listen to the soothing, acoustic notes.
Damn that man plays a beautiful guitar… No, Alex! Don’t! Don’t get sucked in again. Remember? Remember what happened last time? Do you want to go through that again?
Pulling up her long sleeves, she traced over the bruises on her left arm, shaking her head at herself in deep despair and self-loathing.
No, I don’t.
Ignoring the music instead of bathing in it, Alex proceeded with her gardening, blocking out everything but the task before her. She had been good at that, teaching her mind to put a wall around the events she found unnecessary to her life. Not that the musician was a distraction, just…not important.
Cait, being the nosey lady that was part of her nature, peaked over the fence, watching as Alexandra tended to her yard. Edge saw the old woman and he set down his guitar to chat, just to keep up appearances. The last thing he wanted was for the local newspaper to write a first page article on how the new member of their community was an everyday, conceited rock star. He was anything but that.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Cait,” Edge smiled, propping his elbows on the metal fence.
Forcing her sight away from Alexandra, Cait boasted back. “Good afternoon, dear. And how are you today?”
“Just fine, thank you. And how about yourself?”
“Swell, swell.”
She trailed off, Cait’s attention to something else completely off-center from where Edge stood only inches away. Turning, anxious to see what the woman was so interested over, Edge spotted Alexandra, dressed in a brown, long sleeved shirt that clung to her perfect, slender torso. Her cut off shorts revealed long, smooth, ivory legs. Her long, wavy hair was tied up in a ponytail, a brown bandanna over the crown and tying in the back. Wearing Gardner gloves, she kneeled down, pulling out dead weeds, throwing them into a bag. A basket beside her held flowers from her garden.
Edge asked Cait. “It’s almost eighty-degrees out. She’s going to have a heat stroke.”
Cait chuckled with amusement. “She’s always wearing long sleeves.”
“Why?”
“Don’t know,” Cait shrugged. “Maybe she’s insecure?”
“She shouldn’t be. I’m going to go say hi.”
Edge started to walk away until Cait caught him by his shoulders. “Wooooah, hold up, young man. She doesn’t like to be pestered.”
“Pester?!” Edge shot, feeling somewhat insulted. “I’m not going to pester. I just want to say hi. It’s not too forward to say hi to a fellow neighbor is it?”
If only she knew, Edge thought. Cait, though gossipy, knew nothing about last night and Edge playing music for Alexandra across lawns while the storm boomed. She didn’t know about how Alexandra stared deep into his soul and closed her eyes, leaning her head back and relaxing to a famous U2 song. If anything, they’ve already said hello’s without words. Only now he wanted to introduce himself so that they wouldn’t remain strangers.
“She won’t say anything back,” Informed Cait with a concerned look. “She never does. The most I’ve ever heard her say was ‘Thank you’ to the cashiers at the market.”
“I’m not worried about that.” Edge grinned. “I just want to be polite.”
“Go right ahead,” Cait encouraged. “It’s better to find out for yourself, anyways.”
Edge felt that Cait was being a little too hard on Alexandra. It’s not like she caused troubled. All she was doing was fixing her yard and humming lightly to herself. How did that make her a bad person? It made her normal.
Feeling confident, Edge walked to the other side of the yard, pausing at the fence only to take a deep breath, debating over what he would say before actually taking action. Unlocking the gate, he crossed the line between the two properties but not before gifting the watchful Cait with a wink. Weakly, she smiled back and snickered, thinking, “What a thick block…”
Alexandra knew that the man was behind her, studying her, shifting on his feet, nervous on how to react. Alex, on the other hand, was going to let him fret over it for a little bit, as wrong as it was. No man should ever be this afraid to say something as easy as a “hello” to a woman. She found it amusing in a dark, twisted way.
Then, after a few seconds, Edge cleared his throat. “Er, hello. Alexandra, correct?”
Throwing a glance over her shoulder, her bright, almost lime green eyes searched his body from head to foot and then back again. Ah, yes, he was a handsome man, she mused. Tall, thin but not too thin, muscled in his forearms and hands. On normal occasions Alex couldn’t tolerate facial hair on men, but it looked stylish on the stranger: well kept, trimmed mustache connecting to a controlled goatee, colored brown with scattered hairs of grey. As for his hair, well, she couldn’t even be sure if he had any because he was always wearing a cap. If it were anyone else it would have looked goofy but on him it was different. It suited him, just as his blue jeans, black t-shirt and converse fitted him.
Edge was relived. So far, so good. She hasn’t said anything back but she was looking at him and that was a plus. Nevertheless, Alex shook her head slightly and went back to her gardening. Edge huffed with failure but continued on.
“I’m Dave,” He said a bit louder. “Dave Evans. Erm, my friends call me ’Edge.’”
Alexandra stood up, both hands holding her bags of dead plants and basket of flowers. Without looking back at the musician, Alexandra said, “I know who you are.” And trotted back into the house.
Edge sighed with a shrug and saw Cait laughing behind the fence. Edge snickered back. The whole situation truly was somewhat amusing.
“I told you,” Cait said. “She’s impossible.”
He nodded in agreement. “Yes, but you were wrong about one thing.”
Cocking her head to the side, Cait asked. “Wrong about what?”
“You said she wouldn’t talk to me. But she did.”
? 
I feel so sad for Alex.
!
